How I Love You
by Eirenei
Summary: AU-verse: Their meeting was an accident. Neither of the two wouldn't have looked at the other twice if it weren't for a piece of a paper napkin, with the song scrawled on it.
1. Chapter 1

_HOW I LOVE YOU_

* * *

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own _Harry Potter_ or _King of Fighters._ I only own this story and borrow its characters for a short little while for our amusement.

 _ **Summary:** _ Their meeting was an accident. Neither of the two wouldn't have looked at the other twice if it weren't for a piece of a paper napkin, with the song scrawled on it.

 _ **Shout Out:**_ You probably remember - or not - my yammering about that crossover sometime ago. I am posting it out now because I've finally found some time to edit it. This was one of my experimental works, because I was hooked on the song _I Died For You_ by _**Iced Earth.**_ As always, if you want to listen to it, it's on youtube. Not complete yet, but the story amused me enough to consider resurrecting it from its hibernation to this for your entertainment.

 _ **Warnings:**_ **AU-verse, SLASH,** this time **_Iori Yagami/Harry Potter_**. **Iori** also deserves his own warning, because **Riot of Blood.** Yes, went there, wrote it, still don't have a T-shirt for it. **Not beta-read.**

* * *

Iori Yagami was in a snit. A full one, too. The band practice went well, but they were still missing something. In fact, they missed a song – or better, lyrics to one particular song. They were so damned close, and yet, the fucking thing was eluding them like live eel, and even if Iori was usually a fairly patient man, this time, he had to get out before he blew a gasket and set their studio on fire.

It was an irritating situation Iori was in. The battle of bands was nearing, and he still didn't have anything to show. His band mates tried to appease him, but nothing they came up with managed to appeal to Iori's high expectations. And to the top of it all, Iori was also dealing with his unrequited …. _liking_ … for that damn Kusanagi idiot, and he was at his wits' end.

The redhead huffed, irritated. He was clad in dark red trousers, dark grey pullover and black jacket with finger-less brown leather gloves, his red hair in a slight mess from the wind. Not even the thought of visiting one of the stray cats he had saved last month later on – he still didn't name that one – lifted his mood.

People avoided the tall redhead with reddish brown eyes and black guitar case like plague. Even if he seemed to be relatively harmless… _relatively,_ being an operative word here, his posture and face screamed 'touch me and die'. Only the most fervent fans of King of Fighters Tournament would recognize in him the famed _Unbridled Instinct,_ one of the most vicious fighters in the aforementioned tournament, but even they would hold a respective distance away from the irate Yagami heir. It was never healthy to get in Iori's way when the redhead wanted something or was in a snit… like now.

After a short walk, he came to a small café. It was a dingy little thing – small, with thick cigarette smoke prevalent in the tiny space, and music blaring out of the old radio, but its saving grace were excellent sandwiches and their coffee wasn't half bad, either. The prices were affordable, too.

At the entrance, he brushed against the dark haired, bespectacled youth with wildest nest of hair Iori had ever seen, clad in worn brown leather jacket that was torn in some places, but he didn't mind. Right now, he wanted his sandwich with extra meat and a large cup of tea, and he wanted it _NOW._

* * *

He plopped on his usual place, placing the guitar case on the floor and absentmindedly noting the coffee cup sitting on the counter was still quarter full with a half crumpled paper napkin beside it. The day had been bland, with gray clouds obscuring the sky and the temperatures were cold, if not outright freezing. The waitress that came to take order, smiled at him her prettiest smile, but he didn't care. She was obviously new; else she wouldn't have tried so hard, but oh well.

The small coffee shop was lit with amber light, giving it somewhat intimate setting, and Iori frowned at the smoke that wafted toward the ceiling. The quiet murmur and occasional burst of laughter didn't help his mood any, so he sulked in his little spot a little bit longer. Some tourists laughed at something, their cheeks suspiciously flushed, making semi – loud remarks about their latest trip.

The night was approaching slowly, darkness steadily claiming the land. Absentmindedly, Iori picked up the small scrap of paper, frowning slightly as the damned thing was written all over with a ball point pen. Some tourist's doing, perhaps, as the thing was scrawled over in chicken-scratch that was English.

Usually, Iori would have thrown the scrap of paper out after a cursory glance, but he was feeling bored and he needed distraction while waiting for his meat sandwich and tea. Idly, the long, pale fingers began to unroll and smooth out the small scrap of paper napkin. When he finally got the small napkin straightened out, Iori glanced at it, expecting an address or some pointless rambling or some kind of a mini – dictionary, but instead of that, it was some kind of a poem. Definitely intrigued now, Iori bent forward a little, his eyes narrowing slightly to better read out the scribbled on words. His English was a little iffy sometimes, but that was only with written word, he didn't have problems with speaking the language. Mouthing the strange words to himself silently, he glared at the piece of paper in frustration at its' previous owner. Whoever wrote this, had to have a chicken somewhere in their ancestral lineage, because the scrawl was sometimes almost illegible, as if the person was unused to writing with ballpoint pen, and thus, some words were scratched out, smeared or otherwise illegible.

Frustrated Iori, when posed with a problem, was also a determined Iori. And this little piece of paper posed a challenge the redhead definitely wanted to solve.

* * *

Five minutes later, Iori was thunderstruck.

This almost illegible scrabble was a … poem.

 _Holy hell._ And not any poem, but _THE_ poem, and Iori felt excitement flare in his gut, the kind he got when he fought with Kusa – his rival. He frowned as the poem seemed to be unfinished somehow, but that could be remedied easily.

The waitress finally brought his food and drink. Iori at first wanted to dismiss her, but then, a proverbial light bulb went off in his head. "Who wrote this?" He waved at her with the scrap of paper that somehow became the ticket for his band's trump card… if he found the song writer that had written it.

"Huh?" The waitress blinked, blushing as Iori stared at her intently, expecting the answer to his question. "Why do you ask?" She asked, tilting her head coyly as her heart skipped. Maybe the gorgeous redhead would ask for her number? The redhead in question sent her a scathing glare, making her squeak in fear.

"Do you know it or not?" Iori snapped out, peeved. He really didn't have patience to deal with annoyance of a fangirl right now… pity he couldn't fry her to crisp… He forced himself to inhale and exhale slowly. _"Well?"_

The waitress gulped. "Um… I don't know, but he comes here in the evening for coffee. A – And that's all I really know about it." Huge brown eyes stared at the redhead, confused and filled with fear.

"How does he look like?" Iori demanded, his fingers squeezing the precious little napkin tighter. He had to be patient… no torching the idiot girl… she had information he sorely needed.

"Um… very messy black hair, glasses and green eyes…. And he wears that really ancient brown leather jacket with a black dragon with torn golden chains on the back."

As soon as she finished, Iori's eyes widened with recognition.

 _'_ _That person - !'_ In his mind's eye he saw the man he had passed when he was entering the small café. His messy black hair, he had glasses on, and brown jacket… it had to be him, no doubt.

He wanted to rush in, to find the man and demand that he finish the lyrics, but it would be pointless. Tokyo was a big city and right now, searching for him would be like trying to find a needle in a giant haystack. Not impossible, but very near it.

Iori nodded to her, waving her off absentmindedly. The waitress pouted at the loss of attention of the red-haired cutie, but oh well – besides, another customer called.

* * *

Iori stared at the little scrap blankly, already thinking about composing the accompanying melody. However, somewhere in the back of his mind, there was a nagging feeling about the song having to be completed.

Slender eyebrow twitching, Iori folded the scrap carefully, before setting onto the demolition of his meat-packed sandwich.

All in a good time, anyway.

* * *

 _ **/To Be Continued/**_


	2. Chapter 2

_HOW I LOVE YOU_

* * *

 ** _Disclaimer:_** I don't own _Harry Potter_ or _King of Fighters_ or their characters. This story, however, is mine.

 ** _Shout Out:_** I am both surprised and amused that some of you dared to take the plunge with that story. Thank you for your reviews, **_Sillvog, R. A Cross_** and **_Amarante96,_** hope you enjoy this little installment. About the chicken-scratch writing - in my own experience, you don't need to have a hand injury to produce a really bad handwriting. Some people retain legible writing, and some not. (Medical doctors, for example, are one of the worst offenders when it comes to legible writing, second only to the people in the tech fields. My darling sibling is a shining example of it, belonging to the both of aforementioned categories. I already lost the count of times I tried to decipher his hand-written notes.) The writing also deteriorates when one is under hard or extreme mental and emotional pressure. Hope that clears out the chicken-scratch dilemma.

 _ **Warnings:**_ **_AU-verse, SLASH,_** violence and Iori being Iori. Yes, he does warrant his own warning. Not beta-read.

* * *

 _"_ _Atchoo!"_ A dark – haired, green eyed young man sneezed sniffling slightly.

If anyone is interested in him, this young man is Harry Potter. As ordinary as they came, in both name and appearance and so on. In Tokyo, he was just one of the tourists that ambled around the city, sampling culinary delicacies and watching cultural monuments while altogether soaking in the culture of both old and modern times.

Nobody knew that this young man was as far from ordinary as the sun was from becoming a supernova star. Why, you ask? Because he was a wizard, a savior, a killer… take your pick. But if you asked him, he would have told you he was an ordinary person, thank you very much. Luckily, the Voldemort incident was viewed as a minor case of terrorism in the world scheme, so Harry was not bombarded with his adoring public or overzealous fans. Partially also because he had slunk away before they could confirm what had happened to make Voldemort keel over, and Harry didn't care for his fame so any usurpers of it were more than welcome to help themselves with it. Harry just wanted to be a normal guy and traveling all over the world to forget her.

Yes, Harry Potter was in love.

No, it wasn't Ginny Weasley, even if she told everyone that was willing to listen to her it was so.

No, it was _her_ \- the one who had accompanied him on his hunt for Horcruxes, who had stood by him when his other friend, one Ronald Billius Weasley cowardly hightailed out when the situation became too hot for him to handle but alas… his love was unrequited.

Closing his eyes, Harry inhaled the cold scent of smoke and rain, mixed in with pieces of people's scents, and the smell of garbage and dinner. So different, and yet, so similar to the scent of London….

His heart gave a twinge at the thought.

 _'_ _No. No. Just …no. Don't think about it. Don't think… about her.'_

His mind railed against his heart, but heart was a stubborn thing and still housed her, as if she were some kind of a goddess.

 _'_ _But what was the use of nursing an unrequited love, when you saw her fell in the arms of your best friend, laughing, crying and relieved it was all over, and she could begin her new life, with him, instead of you?'_ His mind mocked him, making him scowl with frustrated anger and pain.

He had given up everything – his life, however pitiful it was, he had died, and yet, his fondest wish, to have her heart, hadn't been fulfilled. Even now, on the other side of the world, he wanted her, needed her, even if he knew it was impossible.

He walked among the people, barely looking at the colorful sights. To him, they could as well be colorless what with him being depressed over Hermione choosing Ron.

Without her… it was all for nothing.

Harry sighed again. Oh well, such was the life. As long as she was happy…

Besides, he was finally free of the obligations to the dumb asses, called British Wizarding world, and it won't do well if he were still sulking.

Sirius definitely wouldn't have wanted it.

With that thought in mind, he determinedly strode to the shop to buy groceries.

What? He may have been depressed as shit, but that didn't mean he wasn't hungry!

Being alive sucked, being in a one-sided love was a bitch, but life went on, and left him with proverbial lemons and growling stomach.

He couldn't do anything with the lemons, but he could do something about his hunger.

* * *

Ten minutes later, he was brushing the shelves for miso pasta. Since he had come to Japan, he became addicted to the native cuisine, and taught himself to cook some dishes to pass the time. Some of his tries were good, some not and a minor part of them turned downright ugly and equally as unappetizing, but he persisted. Mikoto-san, his temporary landlady, occasionally taught him a trick or two, but otherwise, the kind old woman left him to figure out the steps alone.

Humming thoughtfully to himself, he was browsing the aisles slowly, looking up other ingredients like _soba_ noodles and brown rice. He was still undecided whether to prepare _ramen_ or _domburi,_ but… oh well, he had to stock up on food in any case. It was a casual occasion, and he didn't have anything to worry about – except what he would have for dinner tonight.

And so, he was totally unprepared for being accosted by big, tall and red – _Whoa!_

"You. Finish the song."

Dumbfounded green eyes looked at his attacker.

* * *

It was a pure dumb luck that Iori managed to find out his… prey. It helped that the elusive songwriter didn't change his clothes much, and besides, that unruly mop of hair of his would be unmistakable everywhere. Sometimes, Iori cursed his memory for remembering faces and random little details, but in this instance, he was grateful for it.

And so, he grabbed the slender youth for his right shoulder and stated his demand.

"You. Finish the song."

Wide green eyes looked his brown ones confused.

 _"Eh?"_ The young man squeaked out, confused. "But I didn't write any - !"

His voice was pleasant, even if its owner was confused just why was he standing in front of the aisle and allowing that redheaded punk to manhandle him and address him so very…inappropriately.

In fact, Iori was downright rude, but he didn't care. He had a gem in his hands – or he would have, if the youth in front of him would consent to write the entire thing out.

"You did. Three days ago, in café _Shiroi Shoto."_ Iori retorted, narrowing his eyes dangerously.

Any lesser man would have caved in, but the green-eyed youth only glared back. "You are stalking me because I doodled some nonsense on a paper napkin? Dude, get a life. " The youth brushed Iori's hand off of his shoulder. "Besides, if they interest you so much, finish them yourself. Good luck with your high school assignment."

* * *

Harry turned away from the redhead, silently relieved that his neck wasn't cricked up anymore. In such cases, he cursed his years of malnutrition – he was still shorter than average male, although it did help him blend among the people here better. However, it was annoying to the moon and back because everyone assumed he was still a high – schooler or something similar. He had already lost track of how many times a well-meaning concerned citizen, kind granny or a police person asked him why he wasn't attending the classes. Absentmindedly massaging the back of his neck, he silently moved forward to grab the dark soy sauce, dismissing the rude stranger as a yesterday news.

Iori twitched. That – that - just dismissed him! _Him,_ the Riot of Blood! It was unheard of! However, when he saw the male stretching after the last bottle of dark soy sauce, he seized the chance and snatched it himself, smirking at the disgruntled exclamation of his songwriter.

* * *

 _"Hey!"_ Harry yelped out as the hand, clad in brown leather, snatched his would-be purchase. He whirled around. "This is mine!" A dark red eyebrow quirked up mockingly. "Snatchers keepers, losers weepers." The redhead sneered, unpleasantly reminding Harry of the greasy bat of dungeons and at the same time successfully amping up his temper. He was hungry, heartbroken and tired and he just wanted a good dinner and some quiet and peace, was that too much to ask for?

"However," The redhead continued unrepentantly. "I am willing to return the bottle to you, but…"

Harry's stomach sunk with dread. He just knew what he would hear next.

"In exchange, you will finish the song." Iori finished, dangling the bottle of soy sauce in front of Harry's nose tauntingly. However, he didn't count on Harry's reflexes.

Quick as a viper, Harry snatched the bottle back. "Thanks for passing it to me – huh?"

Iori may have been surprised at his target's reflexes, but he still had a good hold on the neck of the bottle, so there they stood, both of them clutching the slender bottleneck, and equally as stumped.

"Uh-huh." Iori recovered first. "You finish the song first, and then I will give you the bottle." He smirked smugly as those green eyes narrowed with outrage.

"Keep your fucking bottle. I will buy the sauce elsewhere." Harry snapped out at the persistent redheaded stranger, releasing the bottle's neck and turning around haughtily. The fucking stranger can keep the fucking bottle and the fucking song for all he cared.

He marched away, his shoulders stiff with irritation, leaving the annoying redhead behind.

* * *

Iori scowled at the bottle in his hand. He had lost his target in a crowd because he was too dumbfounded to follow him.

Any sane person would give up by now.

However, Iori wasn't sane by any stretch of definition of this world, and when he wanted something, he usually got it. Well, except for defeating Kusanagi, but that was whole other story.

So… he made his way to exit.

He would get the stubborn ass to write out the whole song, no ifs, ands or buts about it!

* * *

Meanwhile, Harry was walking toward his apartment, still fuming about the idiot.

" _'Write me a song'_ , my ass," he grumbled out, incensed, "I am not a fucking Shakespeare to fart out songs of all things! The idiot…" In his grumbling he reverted to English, and his self – talk got the attention of some unwelcome… elements.

"Oi, you." Someone called to him, making Harry turn.

"What the hell do you want?" He barked out, peeved, eyeing the group of dangerous looking thugs distastefully.

"We don't like foreigners. And this passage is under protection of Ekikage group so…" One of them, a bleached blond drawled, grinning nastily.

Green eyes narrowed. So… bullies already, huh? "Hm…" He grunted non – committently. Inwardly, he was cursing up a storm. This was just his kind of shitty luck – being confronted with wannabe Muggle _yakuzas_ who extorted money from unsuspecting foreigners.

So using the magic was not possible. Japan may be laxer than England in that regard, but that was only for its citizens. Foreigners were strictly monitored at all times with a nifty little charm that was, if the said foreigner was good, removed after two months. Unfortunately for Harry, he was in Japan for only half a month, thus he still didn't qualify as fully enabled wizard. Japanese people didn't care about the hubbub of him being The Man-Who-Won, which was one of the reasons to choose the country, but right now, his decision was biting him in the ass.

Well, it was too late for moaning about the unfairness of his life. Harry sighed. The only thing he could do was going straight through this passage – he wasn't stupid enough to turn his back on the Ekikage idiots.

"So… you will pay for the passage. 2000 yen will suffice." One of the other thugs grunted out, making his compatriots grinning with greed.

Inwardly, Harry groaned. He didn't have such amount of money on himself, and he really didn't want to get it out from ATM. "200 yen and no more." He stated, making the thugs bristle.

"Are you making fun of us, huh?" The one with a tribal tattoo on his right cheek snarled at him, dark eyes narrowing threateningly.

"I am just stating the real price." Harry retorted mildly, as he prepared to dash away.

"Soo… you're making the fun of us." Another one piped up, his face reminding Harry unpleasantly of that damned rat.

And then, Harry's word exploded with pain as someone's fist drove in his still healing side.

Gasping for air, he crumpled on the floor, fighting to stay conscious.

Right now, he sorely regretted that he didn't write that damned song.

The second fist aimed at his shoulder connected with a sick _thud._

* * *

Iori was no tracking dog, but he was determined, and tracking the songwriter right now was easier than expected.

Who was he kidding – tracking the bastard was pure dumb luck more than half of the time. But knowing the city came in handy, and he banked on the fact that his prey would want to get through one of those secured passages. Meaning, he had little time to get to the scene in time.

His steps hurried, and then, he began running.

* * *

The thugs had the time of their lives. This… _gaijin_ was stubborn, just like they liked them, and until now, they had dislocated his shoulder, broken his arm and right now, they were in a process of redecorating his face with a knife.

Three wide, deep slices on his right cheek were already carved in, and the left cheek had two, with third in process of being carved in.

However, the stubborn _gaijin_ still didn't give in. Even that hulking meat sobbed and begged them to stop it at the second slice, but this little slip did nothing of the sort.

Even rubbing in the lemon juice –

"What the hell are you losers doing?" A sharp voice interrupted them.

The blond thug, apparently a leader, looked at the red-haired man, annoyed. "Just extracting a payment for crossing our territory. Beat it."

But the stranger didn't go away. In fact, he came closer. In the dull light of a streetlamp, his dark red hair looked like blood.

A foreigner.

The blond haired thug sneered. "Oi, boys… time to collect another fee. Whaddya think?" Hyena-like laughter and snickering around him gave an agreement to his idea.

Dark brown eyes narrowed. And then, he looked at the thugs' victim, and instantly, they widened in an outrage.

"You dare to harm what is mine?" His voice was quiet, and any sane person would run for hills by now. But any sane person in that case would be long time participants of King of Fighters tournament, and they were not sane to begin with. However they would at least leave one fuming _Riot of Blood_ Yagami to Kusanagi Kyo to deal with.

Yagami and Kusanagi were the two who were in a small handful of the fighters that constantly dominated the KoF tournament. They had their pitfalls too, but they were far and few between – it came as far that the permanent fighting crew joked that the tournament should have been renamed as Yagami-Kusanagi Cup.

Neither of the two mentioned fighters found that funny when the culprits – Terry Bogard and Kyo's little apprentice, Shingo, coined the name - even if Shingo argued that it should be just Kusanagi Cup, because Kyo had so far most of the wins in the tournament history. Terry then pointed out that sometimes it was pure dumb luck on Kyo's side, what with saving the world business and offhandedly suggested that Yagami would be better which sparked another debate, much to the amusement of listeners.

However, the idea was shot down, and tournament's name remained unchanged, much to Shingo's disappointment and Kyo's relief. Iori didn't care either way.

But back to the present.

The thugs unknowingly did the dumbest thing ever – pissing off Yagami Iori. KoF tournaments were a closed type tournaments, meaning only the best of the best fighters knew about it, and as for ordinary martial artists, the mentioned tournament was like searching for Holy Grail. You know about it, but if you are not selected nor you have access to the tournament tickets… well, then you are outta luck.

"Ken, Shiro, deal with the punk." The blond leader commanded, grinning cruelly as he offhandedly began carving the third line on his prey's cheek.

The red haired 'punk' tilted his head. "Want to die, do you?" he purred out, dark brown eyes glinting with red.

The two thugs charged at the still form of their prey, thinking the lone man to be an easy job, frozen with fear at their assault.

But when they were right in front of them, the previously 'helpless' prey exploded into action. Their dull eyes widened as they saw the bloodthirsty grin on their prey's face, and then, their consciousness exploded with pain.

* * *

The punks who looked at the scene grinned in anticipation – Ken and Shiro specialized in cornering their prey and double combos, and really, the foreigner didn't have any chance against the might of Ekikages –

But then, the man sprang into action, his fingers snapping into their clawed form and the man became whirlwind of blood and violence, breaking the bones as if they were made from papier mache.

 _"_ _Kudaran!"_ The man spat out as he slammed Shiro down, making the man scream with pain as his femur bone was broken. Ken snarled with wordless rage, but he was already too late as his head was snapped on the side and he was kicked into the gut with such a force he literally flew into the wall.

"W – What?" The lead thug stuttered, his eyes wide. "Who the hell are you?"

Dark brown eyes zeroed onto him with an intensity that made him shudder. "Someone who you just pissed off. Now, _die already!"_

The redhead stepped forward, lifting his hand and in a snap, a ball made out of violet flames appeared above the stranger's palm.

"Oh shit." The rat-faced thug squeaked, dark eyes bulging out. "It's _Yagami!_ "

The thugs stared at their member dumbly. "Yagami who?" One of them asked, grunting with confusion.

"I – it's Yagami!" The Ratface stuttered again, backing away. "Yagami Iori, the _Blood Riot!_ " His voice became high with desperation as he tried to find some hole to escape away through.

" _Blood_ – Oh, _shit!_ " the leader cursed, his eyes wide with comprehension, as he stared at the approaching man fearfully.

Red hair – check, violet flames, check, claw marks on his opponent – check. His clothes were different from his usual tournament getup, but the flame told it all.

They were screwed.

He gulped, thinking to leave his prey – wait.

He grabbed the man, and placed the sharp, serrated knife on the man's throat. "One step closer, and he will die!" His voice was quivering with fear.

Yagami stopped, his red eyes narrowing in outrage.

The lead thug smirked in victory.

* * *

Iori was in a conundrum. He could beat the thugs, but then his song writer would end with a nice, deep wound on his neck, or he could surrender and –

Dull green eyes looked at him, and surprisingly, they were not filled with panic or anything.

Iori blinked.

They were the eyes of a fighter.

Quick as a snake, the captive stomped on his captor's feet, making him curse with pain, but it was enough of a distraction for Iori to finish the other thugs off with a flame and then punching the swine who held the man into the face.

"P – Please have mercy!" The lead thug stuttered as he edged away from the dangerous duo.

"Mercy?" Iori asked flatly. "I don't do mercy on any day that ends on – y. Well, you had to die sometime. Now is as good a time as any!" He lifted his clawed hand to deal the finish blow.

"Stop!" The songwriter said, halting him. "Yagami, or whoever the hell you are – leave the poor bastards alone. There is no cure for stupidity, and I really don't want you to catch it."

Wobbly, the man stood up, grimacing as he clutched his arm. Yagami felt a twinge of sympathy, but it served the idiot right. He didn't want to write out the song, this was his punishment.

"I will stop if you tell me your name." Iori hedged, smirking.

He got a poisonous glare from those green eyes for his daring.

"Fine. I am Potter Harry. Happy now?" The youth spat out, making him grin with amusement at his prey's huffy manners.

 _"Ecstatic."_ He deadpanned, and with a quick punch, the thug leader was out like light.

"So, will you finish the song now?"

Potter Harry stared at him as if he were mad.

"You want me to do _what?_ " He asked flatly, green eyes squinting a little.

Iori thrust to him the small piece of paper he had been molesting since he had gotten it.

"Finish the song."

He smirked at his prey's irritated face.

Yup. Iori Yagami won again.

* * *

 _ **/To Be Continued/**_


	3. Chapter 3

_HOW I LOVE YOU_

* * *

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own _Harry Potter_ or _King of Fighters_ or their characters.

 _ **Shout Out:**_ Thanks for all the fishes - I mean, reviews. You guys made my day, seriously. So, there. Harry is slowly thawing on the subject, but Iori is still not out of the hot water yet, thanks to his temper. As on who will appear next, you will just have to wait and see… yes, yes, I am evil like that. It's bread and butter of writers everywhere, really.

 _ **Warnings:**_ _**AU-verse, SLASH,**_ Iori being Iori and beware of the fluff. **_Not beta-read._**

* * *

Harry was not amused. His supposedly peaceful day had been thrown in a loop with him unintentionally acquiring his redheaded stalker, evading the stalker, being ambushed by a gang and then being rescued by the said stalker. Didn't help that the ambush in question was entirely that maniac's fault, too, never mind that it was Harry's crappy luck pulling him into the straits again.

Said maniac introduced himself as Yagami Iori, a guitar player in some band whose name Harry already forgot. He insisted on accompanying Harry back to his apartment, much to the green eyed wizard's annoyance. Yagami now knew where he resided, and that meant the menace would shadow him until Harry would cave in and acquiesce to finishing the damned warbling, whether he wanted it or not.

Heartbreak suddenly became a lot more complicated business he wanted it to be.

Harry glared at his unintended guest for the n-th time in the last hour they were in Harry's kitchen. "And I am telling you I am not a fucking songwriter. What makes you even think that I can write a song?"

Iori was sitting on the chair, nursing a cup of green tea in his hands, as he watched him prepare dinner. Harry thanked all the deities that he had equipped his emergency case with Skele-gro, but he couldn't do anything for the wounds on his cheeks that ran diagonally from his ear to chin. They stung like a bitch, even if he used some distilled Murtlap essence to at least staunch the worst of the bleeding. The red lines still hurt like a bitch, because the knife had a serrated edge, making for an ugly picture, as he didn't cover the lines with anything. It would take a day or two for them to completely heal, though.

"I don't care. Just finish it." Iori grunted out, his dark brown eyes following Harry as he was making the lasagna. Usually, Harry would have prepared something simpler, but right now, he was frustrated, and that meant he reverted to his old cooking habits – Dursley-cooking habits, in fact. He had partially curbed the need to cook for 12 people at once, but he still made dishes that demanded exact preparation or ingredients that took careful process to prepare to keep his focus off the matter that bothered him at the moment.

He was just thankful that his kitchen was western-styled, because otherwise, it would be awkward.

Right now, he was mixing together various kinds of grated cheese, dried parsley, eggs, salt and ground black pepper, keeping one eye on the steadily browning ground meat in the pan.

There was a short silence, and then Iori spoke. "Your arm doesn't bother you?" He asked curiously. Any other civilian would have gone to the hospital by now, with a broken arm and whatnot, but Harry Insisted to go to his apartment and cook the dinner.

"I've had my bones broken more times than I could count." Harry replied shortly. "Don't worry on my account." Iori's curiosity was piqued, but he knew better than to ask why or how. Besides, the scent of meat was just delicious… He swallowed the saliva back and desperately hoped that his stomach wouldn't grumble in demand of a food.

 _GROOOWL._

Iori's stomach growled. Harry paused in his mixing and arched his eyebrows. "Either you have a beast in your stomach or you are hungry." He told the mortified Iori flatly.

"I'm not – " Iori's protest was silenced by his gut's loud protest, making Harry smirk and Iori scowl.

Sometimes it just sucked to be a meat eater.

* * *

An hour and a quarter later, the lasagna was done.

Iori fell in love. The lasagna was just so… delicious, savory and perfect, it was hard not to.

"Where did you learn to cook such good lasagna?" he asked between bites of his third serving. Harry was on his second serving, collecting both meat and noodles into a neat little bite while he answered, amused at Iori's enjoyment of the food. "Mostly self-taught, and internet can offer many good ideas." They were eating lasagna with a side of green salad and Harry had to admit it was a pretty good meal, all things considered. At least Iori's table manners were more polite than Ron's, and that said much, because both Iori and Ron were hearty eaters – Iori because he had to refill the energy levels, while Ron was just plain glutton for good food.

Iori hummed thoughtfully. Harry watched his unintended guest. "Why do you want me to finish this… scrap of a song?" Harry asked honestly curious.

Brown eyes looked into his green ones. "Because it has a potential and you owe me." His answer was short and to the point, but Harry still twitched. He didn't know whether to be flattered or insulted that Iori was playing on his sense of justice so successfully.

"Right…"He agreed flatly. "So I will scrap something up…" He put his plate away. "Why do you need it?"

"My band has a competition in two weeks, and we lack one song. We already had the melody, but we didn't have a song to get along with it, so – " Iori shrugged, putting in his mouth another bite of lasagna.

Harry nodded. "Alright. Try not to stalk me too much, will you?"

Iori choked on the bite and Harry smirked at Iori's offended glare.

Revenge was sweet.

* * *

Aside from his evening visits, the next four days for Harry were blessedly Iori-free. Harry didn't know whether to be grateful or not. On one side, he was finally let alone to mope and angst, and on the other, he kind of missed the tall redhead, not that he would admit it to himself. Iori was a tall, redheaded presence in his life, reminding him of Ron, but unlike his best friend, Iori knew when to shut up and when to speak. Not that he was much of a speaker anyway, but the silence between them wasn't uncomfortable by any means. Harry was grateful that Iori had saved him, as not many people saved him just because it was a right thing to do. Okay, well, he was exaggerating now, but it was the principle of thing.

And, Harry scowled, he still didn't have any inspiration to finish the song. In his honest defense, he never claimed he was an artist, but for some reason, he wanted to impress Iori – and this impressing business was harder than he thought it would have been.

He closed his eyes. Iori appeared at his apartment like clockwork – always in the evening, at six o'clock on the dot, and they spent together two hours, before Iori took his leave. It was the time he both anticipated and dreaded – the red haired man was not an easy one to please, and Harry lost the count of how many drafts he had written from this little scrap of paper.

But something was wrong. It was eight o' clock in the evening and Iori didn't call or anything. Green eyes narrowed as Harry muttered a curse under his breath. He had prepared dinner – meat pie and a Schwarzwald cake for the dessert, and the bastard didn't even have a courtesy to call him he wouldn't come!

Harry's temper climbed. This… just wouldn't do. It had taken painstaking preparation for both of the dishes, and time he would otherwise use to go into kabuki theatre– there was one really interesting kabuki play playing today, but _noo,_ he just had to play a host to one meat-eating, redheaded muscle-bound idiot who was just too picky about his song!

…The song wasn't even his to begin with, if Harry was technical. Harry was the author, but Iori behaved like a conductor who rapped the disobedient first violin on the head every time said first violin did something wrong.

Harry sulked as he waited a little bit longer.

* * *

Ten in the evening, and the bastard still didn't show his mug here. And Harry had enough.

"Fuck the rules." He hissed out, before grabbing the scarf Iori had left behind the last time he had visited him and some cranky jabs with Elder wand later, he had a modified portkey to Iori sitting innocently around his neck.

" _Bastard."_ With that last vindictive phrase, he was whisked out of his living room, leaving behind only scent of meat pie and green tea.

* * *

He landed harshly, his bones jarred from the impact. At first, he didn't know where he was - it was a dump, at any rate and for a moment, he doubted his portkey-making skills.

The air was stale and wet and the floor was bare mocha colored linoleum. The walls were cracky and the color on them was washed out and it was cold here – Harry shivered with discomfort. The Dursleys may have been bastards, but he was at least semi-warm in that little cupboard. But this – this was like living in a freezer! Harry shivered again, cursing his idiocy for not taking a warm jacket with him – before he groaned in dismay. Was a he a wizard or not? And besides, the Elder wand was untraceable so there was no need to behave like a scatterbrained Muggle with Wrackspurts floating around his head.

' _Are you a witch or not?'_ He chuckled bitterly at the short snippet from his memory as his heart gave a painful lurch.

He wrinkled his nose at the scent of stale air and sickness –

Wait – _sickness?_

He hurried across the room, not bothering with getting out of his shoes.

First room – a small kitchenette.

Second room - a stall and a toilet.

Third room, he finally had some luck.

It was darkened one, and he fumbled around for a switch and when he finally found it, he touched it and the room became lit with light, albeit a dimmed one.

There, in front of him, there was a bed – if it could be called one, that is – made from iron bars, thin mattress and some bed sheets.

Under those ragged bed sheets was a curled form of Iori.

"Yagami! " Harry gasped, hurrying to the huddled form, and it was a testament to how bad Iori was feeling that he didn't do anything, except for mumble and shiver. Harry put his hand on Iori's forehead, although he already knew what he would find.

Iori was running a fever.

The redhead's face was clammy and paler than usual, his semi-long hair matted with sweat and he smelled – it was obvious he didn't bath for some time, but Harry supposed it was better like this, as he didn't think Iori had anything above bare necessities and that most likely didn't include hot water.

"Iori, you stubborn son of a bitch, you could've just called me." He groaned exasperatedly. He looked around the room for a coat or something similar. He didn't think it would be safe to transport a sick Muggle with unknown powers with portkey, or, Merlin forbid, apparation.

He found out what he wanted and retrieved it – it was Iori's black jacket, and thankfully, Iori was still mostly clothed, so Harry was spared the embarrassment of clothing him up more than he already did.

He struggled to get the man into the jacket, growling silently as Iori was fairly uncooperative, just grunting and occasionally whining, trying to curl back into his huddle.

Finally, Harry managed it. He then fished in his pockets for a phone – if Japan was good for anything, it was their technomancy, meaning their technology worked around magic. He didn't know how or why, he was just grateful he had a working phone.

Opening it up, he typed in a number.

"Hello. Could I get a taxi on this number? I have a sick person to transport…"

* * *

An hour later, he and Iori were in his apartment in Harry's bedroom. It took some haggling and arguing on Harry's part to secure the taxi man's help on transporting the bundle of trouble that was Iori Yagami up to his apartment, but a little wad of money solved that little problem fast.

Now, Harry was alone with Iori and wasn't that just dandy? Luckily, his bed was big enough for the man, but that still meant he would have to disrobe the man and wash him of excess sweat and …

Harry gulped. Freshening charms wouldn't be of much a help here and really, too much magic, even if it was with an Elder wand, and he would be a goner.

Swallowing thickly, he eyed the slumbering man warily.

"Hard way is it then," he mumbled, defeated.

* * *

Iori was swimming between the dreams and reality and it was not a pleasant place to be in. his memories of childhood mixed with the memories of his fights with Kusanagi, his meetings with Orochi and some rare moments he was content.

He belatedly felt someone disrobe him, and he tried to protest, but his mouth was shut and his tongue too heavy and the person who took care of him had so very gentle hands.

' _Kusanagi…?'_ He saw a blurred black hair and then, he fell deeper in a slumber.

When Harry finished the wash, he was red as a lobster. Iori was … big. Not only in height, but… other measurements too. The green-eyed wizard felt almost insignificant in front of that force of life, named Iori Yagami – as even unconscious, he exuded a presence that was intimidating, and dare he think, regal. He conjured some soft cotton blue pajamas and managed to get Iori in them, before he covered him with bed sheets and left him to lie here, while he tidied up and searched for something for a fever.

Looking at Iori, he shook his head with amused exasperation. "So we will have to postpone our little brainstorming session," He muttered at the sleeping man sardonically. "What a happy occasion, don't you agree?"

Iori, sleeping on, didn't answer.

And Harry didn't expect him to.

* * *

It took three days until Iori came to his consciousness fully.

Blinking blearily and feeling better for some reason, Iori fuzzily wondered what had just happened.

He was … sick, right? His brain slowly rebooted themselves, and then, he remembered.

He was supposed to meet with Harry - !

He jolted up – or tried to. He groaned with frustration as his muscles felt like wet noodles – they didn't obey him and overall, he felt like a newborn kitten and –

He blinked.

The scent was different for some reason – sweet and bitter and light, clean in its own right, and the room was warmer than his own apartment was.

Now as he looked around with more attention, this wasn't his room and -

He was lying in a Western-styled bed, cocooned in warm bed sheets and it was a very comfortable position to be in. He was clean and he now felt a little bit groggy, but otherwise… fine.

What remained to be seen was just where he was and who was his caretaker?

Iori turned his head to left, and there he was.

Curled in a small ball on a recliner, with messy black hair – Iori's heart jumped for a moment as he thought it was Kyo – but the hair was messier and the man was smaller, clothed in soft deep blue sweater and comfortable black trousers, carelessly snoozing away.

For some reason, Iori felt disappointed but at the same time, he was ashamed. Someone took care of him, and all he could think was that he wished it had been Ky- _Kusanagi_ that had done the deed.

He must have made some noise, as the man stirred and then, eyes opened to reveal stunning green orbs.

"Mm. Finally awake, I see." The man – Harry - murmured his voice scratchy with sleep. "Water?"

Iori nodded, speechless.

Harry stretched, before standing up and reaching for a pitcher of water with lemon slices.

"Can you drink alone or should I help you?"

Iori flexed his fingers. "I'm not sure." He croaked out, grimacing at the sound of his voice. Harry nodded. "Okay. I'll help you then."

It was a relief to drink something cool and Iori noticed, with a hint of surprise, that it was a lemonade with honey. Not that he minded, of course.

"How did you?"

He asked as he finished with drinking.

Black eyebrows arched. "Find you, you mean?" Harry asked, placing the glass back on the table.

Iori nodded.

"You didn't come as usual, and I suspected that something was wrong. I searched for you and with some luck, I found you." Harry shrugged nonchalantly.

Iori eyed him thoughtfully. His den was fairly hidden, and for Harry to find it out – he either had enormous resources or it had been a spot of pure dumb luck. Iori would bet on the latter, but his brain was still feeling woolly, so he didn't linger on the thought too much.

He felt a rough palm on his forehead. "Sleep. We can talk later."

* * *

Sighing with relief, Iori closed his eyes and drifted off again.

He slept for five hours before he woke up again. This time, his green-eyed caretaker was absent, much to Iori's disappointment – why was even feeling disappointed, anyway?

He squirmed uncomfortably as his bladder announced its need to be emptied, prompting him to crawl out of the comfortable nest he was buried in and stumble to the toilet.

Luckily he got it right on his first try and as soon as he took care of the pressing need, he headed back to the bed, before pausing as his stomach grumbled out his demand.

Looking at his bed longingly, Iori turned away, intending to find his host.

Speaking of his host – Iori blushed as he finally found out that he was clothed in soft blue cotton pajamas. Rationally, he knew he didn't have anything to be ashamed of, but well… it was so very long since someone had taken care of him like that he almost didn't remember. And he felt something… warm in his chest at the thought of Harry taking care of him.

He strode out of the room. He tripped once – he was not used to his muscles being so … watery –feeling, but he managed to get to kitchen without any further problems. The scents in the air made his mouth water, and looking by the sun, Harry was just making dinner.

The kitchen was a quaint little thing, but a welcoming one, especially with the scents wafting around – and Harry was humming as he was checking something in oven.

"Hey." Iori called, watching amused as the dark-haired male jumped with fright.

"Damn it, Yagami! Will you stop trying to give me a heart attack already!" Harry yelped out, green eyes behind the wire frames wide with shock and irritation.

Iori chuckled. "But you make such a tempting target," he mocked back, making Harry huff and turn back to the oven.

"Laugh it up, bastard. I will get you one day…" Harry threatened back, but his lips were twitching in an attempt to stop the smile forming on them. "Anyway, good of you to come, the pie is finished. So just grab your chair and sit tight."

Iori smirked. That was what he liked about Harry – his stubborn, bullheaded nature. Harry didn't coddle him, and he even got into little spats with Iori when he thought the Yagami heir was beginning to get too big for his britches. Just like –

He shook his head, dismissing the dark eyes from his mind. He was here now, and he had his own girl. So… no point about making it more complicated as it should have been.

"Dig in." Harry's voice called him back from his musings and with a start, Iori found out that he had missed Harry unloading the tray and servicing him his portion.

"I am sorry." He blurted out, making those green eyes looking at him with confusion.

Harry blinked. "What the hell for?" he asked, watching Iori fidget on his chair. Brown eyes looked at him briefly, before they were averted in shame.

"I am being a burden – you didn't have to help me - " Iori tried to explain, but Harry already understood. "Don't mention it." He quickly interrupted his guest. "Let's just eat for now, okay?"

The redhead opened his mouth to protest, but a warning glare from Harry's eyes made him snap it close and he nodded. "You're right. _Itadakimasu!"_

* * *

After they had finished the meat pie, Harry had brought out two pieces of Schwarzwald cake, making Iori eye the sweet doubtfully. He was not one for sweets much – and he already ate a generous portion of the meat pie.

Harry put the plates on their respective places, before sitting down. "You want to ask me something." He supplied helpfully, making Iori nod.

Iori looked at him. "Yes. Why are you so nice to me?" he asked, making Harry almost choke on his first bite of the cake goodness.

"Excuse me?" Harry asked him, confused. Iori sighed. "You could have left me in my flat." He said, making Harry blink with confusion. "But I didn't." Harry replied slowly. "That's just it!" Iori snapped back. " I know I am annoying you with that song and my presence, and don't you _dare_ to deny it!" he growled as Harry opened his mouth to refute his accusations. "Yet you go, somehow find where I live and drag me to your flat and … take care of me." He growled uncomfortably at the last four words. "You shouldn't have to."

Harry stared at him. "I shouldn't." He agreed, his voice even. "But I did anyway." He ruffled his already messy hair into even bigger mess. "Look, even if you are pain in the ass, you are _my_ pain in the ass, and as much as I don't like it, you have grown on me… _somewhat._ Besides," he rolled his eyes heavenward, "I was always partial to hero complex, as my friends often tell me." He ended, smiling sardonically.

Iori's tense frame slowly loosened at Harry's dry answer. "One of your pet projects, huh?" He inquired dryly, as he cut a small bite of the cake with the fork's edge. He smirked with amusement at Harry's deer in the headlights look at his half joking-half serious inquiry. "Uh well yes – I mean no – " Harry spluttered, until he saw a spark of amusement in Iori's eyes. A small silence, then the green eyes narrowed.

"… You bastard." Harry growled half-heartedly, and Iori allowed himself to chuckle.

It was fun ruffling Harry's proverbial feathers – he was like a small kitten, all huffy and puffy and… cute.

"So how did you find me?" Iori asked, before he put the small bite in his mouth.

An explosion of flavors hit his tongue – the soaked, spongy texture of chocolate biscuit, tart taste of cherries and silkiness of the cream mixing together, making him hum with taken-aback pleasure.

Harry watched him, smiling. "Tagged your guitar case." Iori blinked. "You tagged my guitar case?" he repeated, baffled. Harry smiled cheekily. "Of course! Ya know, GPS is a fine thing and it's always good to see where you are in case I want some free time away from you."

Inwardly, Harry sweated bullets – what he said wasn't strictly true, but bless Hermione and her ramblings about wonders of GPS and tags and satellites. He only had to pray Iori wouldn't catch on his bullshit too soon. Besides, really, just how could he explain magic without being hailed either into insane asylum or in front of Japanese tribunal of magic? He may have been influential, but even he wasn't _that_ influential.

Iori stared at him for a moment and Harry held his breath, and then, the redhead nodded, making Harry silently breathe a huge sigh of relief.

 _Whew._

One more proverbial bomb averted.

* * *

Iori hummed thoughtfully. It was logical, but he swore to himself he would search his guitar case thoroughly as soon as he would manage to get his hands on it.

"Hey… Why are you living in that flat?" Harry asked him, making Iori tense.

"What do you mean?" Iori asked back, brown eyes narrowing slightly, with a small hint of red seeing through, but as soon as it appeared, it also vanished.

Harry glared back at him, obviously not intimidated in the slightest.

"Don't play _cute_ with me, Yagami Iori." He growled out. "That hole of yours is not even fit for rats, and frankly, it worries me that you live in it."

Iori snarled. "And what do you suppose I should do, genius?" He snapped back. "Unlike you, I don't have rich daddy and mommy to tide me over –"

And as soon as he spoke the words, he was unceremoniously punched into jaw.

"You fucking _prick,_ "Harry snarled out, green eyes livid. "For your _information,_ my daddy and mommy were murdered when I was one year old by some crazy psycho." He flexed the hand with which he punched Iori, trying to shake off the remains of pain and numbness out.

Iori stared, frozen, as the fuming man gathered his plate and marched out of the kitchen.

He gently touched the punched spot, wincing both in pain and shame.

"I fucked up again, didn't I?" He mumbled to himself, looking at the partly-eaten slice of cake remorsefully.

And as if agreeing with Iori's glum proclamation, the remaining piece of cake crumbled in two.

* * *

 _ **/To Be Continued/**_


	4. Chapter 4

_HOW I LOVE YOU_

* * *

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own _Harry Potter_ or _King of Fighters_. But I do occasionally sneak away their characters to write stories…

 _ **Shout out:**_ Sorry for being late - intended to update in the morning, but duty called, and now I am one dead bone-tired schmuck who hopes there are not too many grammar mistakes in this one. Also, _**Sillvog**_ , thanks for making me laugh, I really didn't think that Harry had some kind of superpower for the redheads going open mouth, insert foot around him. Both Iori and Harry have two weeks of time to get the song in order. And _**BlackCorruption13,**_ I totally agree with your summary of Iori's blunder! _**Suzu no Miya**_ , this one is for you, because I didn't think that anyone would expect there will be any other character from KoF involved. All in all, enjoy!

 _ **Warnings:**_ _**AU-verse, SLASH**_ , Iori being Iori, and trouble seem to follow him like a puppy. Fair warning, this shamelessly veers off the fixed storyline. Not beta-ed.

* * *

Harry fumed as he plopped on the bean bag after setting the plate on the table a little bit too hard, causing the cake slice to crumble, just like his temper had some moments ago.

"The _nerve_ of that bastard," He snarled out, incensed. He understood where Iori was coming from, but that didn't mean Iori's derogatory mention of Harry's dead parents hurt any less.

He stared at the half-eaten piece of the cake and for a moment, he was tempted to hurl the plate and its contents along it at the wall in a childish fit.

He sighed. Somehow, Yagami managed to get under his skin even worse than Malfoy when they were still snot-nosed brats, and that was saying something.

Harry growled. Yagami deserved more than that feeble little punch in his pretty boy face and for a moment, Harry maliciously thought about rearranging his… facial… features via some Marauder styled pranks. Potato nose, fat lips and maybe some a little longer… teeth than usual. Oh, and just how would he look like with an afro? Or… maybe he could shave off those luscious red locks? Surely Iori would freak out then and maybe kill Harry, but the revenge would be well worth it, in Harry's opinion.

He had to chuckle at his imagination; but he had to admit he was feeling a bit better now.

Smiling slightly, he reached for a book to read some more. The story was becoming interesting, and Harry wondered just how Ken would win over the monstrous self-proclaimed hero.

* * *

Iori sighed. He had eaten the piece of cake, washed the dishes and swept the floor like a good little guest, and he was still feeling guilty. He dreaded the next meeting with Harry. His jaw still hurt from the hit Harry had delivered–for such a small and slender guy, Harry was surprisingly strong.

"Suck it up, Yagami," He growled at himself, scowling slightly as he clenched his hands into fights. "You did a fucking mistake so you should just go apologize now – "

Suddenly, he clutched his head as the all too-well known agony hit him, and brown eyes widened with dread.

Oh, no….

 _He_ came again…

* * *

Harry was almost at the end of that particular chapter, when he heard a crash in the kitchen.

Instinctively, he jumped up and ran, his mind buzzing through the possible scenarios.

What if Iori was hurt? What if there was a burglar? What if _they_ found him - ?

Instinctively, he recalled his wand, not that he needed it anymore, but old habits die hard.

He skidded into the kitchen and….

Stared.

"What. The. Hell?"

His question made the Iori snap around toward him.

But this, despite his physical likeness to the overly rude redhead, wasn't Iori. The eyes -

Unconsciously, Harry backed away when the undesirable feelings and memories flashed through his brain before he could repress them in entirety.

Those eyes - dark, deep red with the thin black slit nestled within the crimson-colored irises, so similar to another snake-faced opponent watched him as if he was a small, helpless mouse about to be gulped down by a ferocious snake.

 _Cruciatuspainagonykeepholdingonholdonsurvivedowhatittakes –_

 _No_. That chapter of his life had been closed and locked. No going back now. Slowly, Harry breathed in, before he steeled himself for the confrontation with that not-Iori being.

"Who the Hell are you?"

His mouth blurted out, seemingly without his assent, and Harry suppressed a wince.

 _'Great going, genius - aggravate someone who can crush your throat in a couple of seconds.'_ His mind snapped at him. This wasn't Voldemort whom Harry had known to the marrow of his bones and knew how to play the game between them while still coming out alive.

No, this one was more dangerous. And more importantly, he was an unknown.

The creature tilted his head.

"I- am Yamata no Orochi." His voice was a little deeper than Iori's and has a hissing undertone that reminded Harry of snakes.

Harry blinked confused for a moment, before his mood settled on exasperation.

Of course. It just had to be some kind of a snake, didn't it? Did Voldemort accidentally slapped him with some kind of an invisible curse, saying _'Harry Potter here. Annoy him at your leisure. Also available as a snake toy. '_ when he finally won their little bout? _  
_

Inwardly, Harry swore he would learn some voodoo, drag little Tommy back to this plane and bind him to one of those pretty little dolls and then use about millions little needles upon the said toy to express his displeasure. He was feeling way past being charitable, no matter Dumbledore's 'good boy' platitudes.

The creature strode toward him, and Harry's hand clenched around his wand tightly. He breathed in slowly, trying to reign in the panic and not to blast the creature – whatever it was – into the next week.

"Any chance for you to explain to me just what are you doing here?" Harry asked boldly – or at least tried to. Instead of that, he sounded constipated and resigned at the same time.

"Yagami is my host." The creature answered as he – It? Neared even closer to the slightly freaked out wizard, until he was in Harry-bubble, his breath caressing the wizard's lips.

" _Ri-ight."_ Harry agreed dryly as he blinked. "So…why are you here?"

A slow blink of those red eyes preceded the answer.

"Because you are interesting."

Harry was stumped.

 _Because he was interesting?_ What, did that mean his first hypothesis about him being some sort of universal snake toy was actually true?

Suddenly, the man twitched and seized violently, red eyes rolling backward and Harry had to grab his – its' shoulders to keep him upright. With a wordless scream, Iori was back.

Wide brown eyes looked at the green-eyed wizard fearfully as the tall fighter stepped back, dislodging Harry's hands off his shoulders.

"Harry – are you alright!" Iori then made a step forward but he restrained himself. "Did it… Hurt you?"

Harry blinked. "I think I am." He answered slowly, still stunned from the image of that red-eyed… something - Yamata - presented.

Stern green eyes met guilty brown ones.

"I think you owe me an explanation."

* * *

It would have been funny if it weren't so ironic.

Harry stared at the chagrined redhead in front of him flatly.

The story was just too incredible to believe it, but Iori's flames were genuine, affirming that the story he had told was the truth.

Finally, he sighed.

"What a fucked up world." He muttered wryly. Iori's eyes snapped at him, cautious and at the same time hopeful.

Harry snorted. His inner self sorely wanted to bash his head against a wall and then allow himself a whimper and cry.

End one snake maniac, get another one for free. And gift wrapped, too. But the thing that galled Harry the most was that this time, he didn't ask for the trouble. He only wanted to get over his little heartbreak, enjoy Japanese culture and maybe grow some roots in the land of the rising sun, just because he could. Instead, he had gained stalker and another stalker within the stalker if the scenario pended out like Harry supposed it would.

How was that his life?

"You are… alright? With… me, I mean?" Iori asked, and his eyes were oddly vulnerable as he fidgeted on his chair, playing with his cup of tea, tracing and retracing the designs. For someone who was at least two heads taller than Harry and could break the green-eyed wizard like a toothpick, Iori right now seemed like a little girl squirming because she had ruined her best dress despite the promises she wouldn't just a few moments ago.

Harry sighed. "Why wouldn't I be?" He asked, shrugging his shoulders as he rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. "It's not as if you tried to gut everyone and anyone you met – "

"But I _could!"_ Iori burst out, jumping up, his hair messed up and brown eyes flashing with anger and anxiety. "Last time, it took Kusanagi and me to subdue the thing and what if – what if this time – "He choked out as he turned to the window, staring at the afternoon panorama outside.

Harry groaned. Was he also that melodramatic when he was dealing with his own snake-face? He didn't want to know, but he suspected the answer would've been yes.

Oh the days of youth and stupidity.

"He didn't seem insane to me." He pointed out calmly.

"And how in the hell would you know that?" Iori rounded at him, slapping the hands on the top of the desk that parted them.

Harry didn't even flinch. Calm green eyes stared into incensed brown ones determinedly.

"Because he said I was interesting."

Iori choked and spluttered. His eyes were comically wide, and his hair was messed up, making him look disheveled and a little bit more human. Maybe even cute, Harry supposed, before he shooed that little thought into the darkest corner of his brain, hopefully never to be dug out again.

" That's it. You did something to the pie." Iori snapped out before straightening up again. Harry was the most unreasonable, stubborn, foolhardy person he ever had the misfortune to meet. And he had met lots of the characters that fit that little description to a t.

Harry stared at the fuming fighter silently. And then, he spoke out something he never thought he would.

"You know, you could just room with me."

Iori groaned.

* * *

It took two days before they came to accord. Iori, Harry found out, was pretty proud guy. So in exchange for rooming with Harry, his new flat mate began to teach him Japanese and help him with the coursework. Kanji, hiragana and katakana were a bitch to learn, and if Harry wanted to get permanent visa, he had to, nilly-willy, pass the national qualifications test. And Harry, stubborn as he was, wanted to do it the old fashioned way; meaning without magic and its influence.

Iori didn't have much to pack – some summer and winter clothes, a few books and a guitar. Personally, Harry was relieved when they left the rat hole in question behind, even if Iori was still rather reluctant to be, as he perceived it, in Harry's debt.

Harry found out that Iori was not one for cooking - they had one memorable little horror episode with spaghetti and meatballs that caused Harry to outright _ban_ Iori from of the kitchen when it came to cooking. The only things Iori could safely make were tea, sandwiches and oatmeal with milk.

On the other side, Harry discovered that Iori was handy when it came to small repairs. They still argued about the song, and it was like their little disagreement hadn't happened at all. The other stalker hadn't shown up… _yet_ , and both of them also pointedly ignored that little tidbit.

Even if that little tidbit in question didn't have any intention of being ignored for long.

* * *

 _ **/To Be Continued/**_


	5. Chapter 5

_HOW I LOVE YOU_

* * *

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own _Harry Potter_ or _King of Fighters._ Or, you know… _them_.

 _ **Shout Out:**_ Fifth chapter and Iori's side of things with his little - or not so little - pet peeve included. As always, thank you for your reviews, happy to brighten up your day _ **. Sillvog**_ , this veered so far off the canon it's not even funny. Orochi is kind of super powered in series, but also lacking in personality, so I aim to repair that oversight. _**Suzu no Miya**_ , you have no idea. _No. Idea._ I am grinning evilly at the thought what kind of troubles I can 'gift' them with. I also wish you good luck with learning kanji, doing some myself too, so you are not alone in your suffering. _ **Toytoya**_ – where would be fun in that? Let's Iori stew a little bit more before the grand reveal… _ **Arisaema-san**_ , thank you and hope you enjoy this chapter.

 _ **Warnings:**_ _**AU-verse, SLASH,**_ Iori having trouble times two and fluffy moments included. (Inspiration came from a lovely photo on zerochan. I will leave you with the fun of searching for it.)

* * *

Iori always had trouble with people. He simply couldn't understand why should he deal with him like they were fragile pieces of china. Animals, no problem. But people – Iori dismissed them out of principle. They were untrustworthy lot, always seeking to hurt and betray him.

His own family was steeped in the darkness, courtesy of the ancient curse. The very blood flowing in his veins was cursed, and whenever he activated his flames, it felt like his body was being burned alive via every vein and capillary available. It didn't help he had heard that voice mocking him, day in and day out, driving Iori to the brink of madness that could be cured only by violence.

Since they – meaning Kusanagi and him - sealed Orochi, he had some semblance of peace in his skull. Yes, he was still plagued by the curse, but the voice that mocked him, the blind rage and pain, those were absent.

Now, however, his little - or not so little - tenant - once again managed to have itself known to the Yagami heir, and at the most inopportune moment, too. Iori still didn't know whether Harry was special kind of dumb or insane to invite him to cohabitate, even when he found out about Orochi. And what was even more concerning, Orochi had expressed his interest in the green-eyed young man, which both spooked and concerned Iori.

If he thought dreams would be his sanctuary, he had been wrong.

* * *

 _ **/Flashback/**_

His dreams were filled with blood, violence and violet flames - three things Iori despised the most. But this time, he found himself in a pitch black darkness.

Blinking, he made a cautious step forward, and his foot stepped on some branch that cracked under the pressure of his weight. Another step, another crack. Iori scowled. The darkness was absolute, not even a teeny, tiny shard of light anywhere.

' _What is going on here?'_ For a moment, Iori wished that he could've had the old scenery of blood and violence back - he had known what to expect then, but this unnatural darkness…. He didn't trust it as far as he could throw it.

"He is interesting." A voice whispered near his right ear, and Iori reflexively jabbed his elbow back, spinning around to claw the intruder, only for his hand to be stopped by a grip on his wrist.

 _Fuck._

Iori snarled like caged beast. He won't be held down, _never again_ –

With that, he kicked his invisible opponent into a stomach, but his attack was once more intercepted.

"Calm down, Yagami. I only want to talk to you." And Iori's blood chilled.

He knew that voice. He had been hearing it since his childhood up to the point when its owner had been sealed, hopefully never to be released again.

"Yamata no Orochi." He growled out, teeth bared, but he stood down, ripping his knee from the being's other hand stopping it and jerking his arm out of its hold.

The darkness was sliced apart by two red orbs with black slit pupil in their middle. Then, the pale white joined the red – messy snow-colored jaw-length hair, along with almost ghostly pale skin, intersected with smoky blue tattoo on the being's muscle-thread chest. It was like darkness was sluicing off his form, like some kind of black water, revealing him to Iori's gaze, once the Yagami heir acknowledged the being's existence. Wide shoulders, strong arms, dexterous hands with wide black wristbands covering the lower half of the lower arms. Trousers, white as snow, their whiteness only intersected by the belt's black color and its silver buckle clinching the fabric close to the being's trim waist.

"'Tis me." The being agreed, it's face solemn as he hovered two feet above Iori, making the redheaded fighter crane his head upward, much to his annoyance.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Iori practically spat out as he slid in a loose fighting stance. "You were supposed to be sealed forever!"

The being chuckled, its red eyes glinting with suppressed mirth. "Forever is _such_ an interesting concept, Yagami. It amuses me to hear you talking about forever, when you are but a tiny particle of dust in Gaia's breath, existing one second, only to be gone in the next." He tilted his head while he spread his arms mockingly, as if to show that he was unarmed, while in reality, he was anything but.

Iori gritted his teeth so hard his jaw began to ache, but he paid the sensation no heed. _One punch._ Just one punch to the asshole's pretty face, and Iori would be glad to die smiling.

"I am not here for your pitiful existence, however amusing it is." Orochi continued, as if he hadn't noticed Iori's mounting fury. "I am here for the Little One."

Screw that, Iori wouldn't be satisfied until he would have this smug, pretentious, divine bastard under the soles of his heels, broken and bleeding and crying for mercy.

If he hadn't believed Harry's words before, Orochi's own admission just cemented the ethereal being's interest in his roommate. His fingers twitched, as Iori struggled to keep his blood lust and anger at bay.

"He is not of the three sacred bloodlines." Iori snapped out. "He is an ordinary civilian, and you are bothering him. Beat it!"

Instead of getting angry, Orochi's lips twitched up into a small smirk. " _You,_ lowly mortal, dare to command me what I _ought_ to do? Shall I set your blood on fire to remind you just who is the superior one here? And tsk, tsk, how foolish of you. Little One is _so much more_ than that poisonous dust you call humankind. He was cursed and blessed – doomed to certain death and given the gift of the eternal fire." Red eyes, who had been mocking at the beginning, softened to something that could almost be called a fond look.

' _Eternal fire?'_ Iori wondered, confused. That was a new one, especially when Harry hadn't shown anything close to even latent pyro tendencies – excluding his temper, of course. Harry could be scary as hell, Iori found out, especially when it concerned his precious kitchen.

"And _you_ – " red eyes snapped at Iori's brown ones " – will certainly _not_ stop me if I wish to interact with my Little One. In your so eloquent words – _beat it yourself!"_ The apparition barked out, and Iori felt his body burn while his vision darkened out again, only to wake up in his bed, sweating and panting, his body arching with the all too real pain coursing through his veins like ropes of white-hot fire.

As soon as he got some breath in his lungs, Iori cursed vehemently - both at his weakness, the snake bastard himself and his mysterious roommate for not writing the song and getting out of his hair.

Suffering in the name of art was a concept Iori was getting acquitained with very intimately those days. Iori scowled, his head making a thunking sound against the wall softly as he sat up.

Dammit.

 _ **/End flashback/**_

* * *

Unable to sleep more and unwilling to let himself dither around the apartment, Iori decided to get out.

Clad in dark red and black dyed trousers with a black pullover to hug his chest, he put on ankle-high leather shoes and fastened the silver buckles on their sides. Straightening out, he took a black bomber jacket off the hook and donned it on, before grabbing the guitar case and tiptoeing out of the apartment, careful not to make more noise than necessary.

He inhaled the crisp October airs, letting it sting his olfactory senses with its coldness. Slowly, he put up black finger less leather gloves. There wasn't any dawn yet, but the surroundings were becoming steadily brighter slowly, the monochrome of black and various shades of gray silently slipping off the buildings, trees and other surroundings for another day. Iori's red hair was obnoxiously bright in the setting, a single vivid color in the otherwise still blank world. He set out to walk aimlessly; letting his feet to lead him to wherever took their fancy. It had been almost too long of a time since he had wandered like this around - since his unfortunate fever - and he enjoyed the little privilege as best as he could. He only regretted there wasn't a moon up on the sky this time. If he had to choose his favorite time, it would be the nights when the moon was his only companion when he was wandering the streets or strumming on his guitar.

Breathing out yet again, he watched the warm air he had exhaled out of his mouth condense in front of him and slowly dissipate as if it never existed to begin with. There were not many people on the streets yet with the still too-early hour, but some 24-hour convenience stores were still open. Whimsically, Iori entered one of those, disregarding the sleeping greeting of the cashier. Grabbing a carton of milk from the fridge, he paid the cashier and a moment later, he was once again on his way among the shadows.

His steps echoed across the pavement in a measured rhythm, finally leading him to a park. The trees stretched their dark, spider-like branches against the sky, their brittle leafless crowns occasionally swaying in the wind or under the weight or an occasional bird or two.

" _Meow."_

Iori paused. And looked to the right. There, near the stone stairs, was a small, half-grown tabby cat. Its fur was pale cream, with gray and chestnut stripes winding around its little body. Wide green and gold eyes watched him, the pupils still large in the dawning light.

He smiled.

"Hey, you. Sorry for being late." He greeted the kitten, and getting an acknowledging purr in return. Iori placed the guitar case against the stone fence and descended down the three stairs, the kitten following him expectantly, looking at the red/white carton in Iori's left hand.

" _Nyaow!"_ The demanding yowl caused Iori to chuckle as he opened the carton, the sound extremely loud in the almost-dawn. Sitting himself down on the middle stair, he reached out and poured the white liquid on the pavement for his furry little companion to enjoy. The milky puddle's white color contrasted starkly against the deep gray of the pavement, its smooth surface interrupted only by a pink tongue licking it off the cold ground greedily.

Iori sighed as he watched the little kitten enjoy her meal. He didn't know when exactly, but this particular stray caught his heart, however cold it was. Maybe it was because how stubborn the little creature had been, following him ever since Iori had discovered this park. It may have been because he had rescued it from some of the punks that wanted to torture it because of its strange color. But the fact remained that the two were together - or as much as it passed for being together between a stray cat and wandering fighter slash musician - for three months. Whenever Iori could spare some money, he always bought a carton of milk to feed the kitten, and in return, the kitten stuck to him, occasionally even climbing into his lap, but mostly listening to Iori playing his guitar.

"I had a bit of luck lately." He murmured to the kitten. "Remember when I was telling you about that songwriter? He is my roommate now." The kitten paused in its licking off the precious liquid to look at him as if he were crazy. Iori chuckled. "Yeah. My thoughts exactly, especially when the snake bastard himself appeared." His mood soured when he remembered the occasion. He didn't think that Orochi could even breach the sealing Ky – _Kusanagi_ and him had done last time. It was supposed to be unbreakable, especially with Iori wearing the Yagami's Shield, the amulet necklace that was supposed to suppress Orochi's influence on Iori's behavior. Somehow, however, Orochi managed to bulldoze through the protection, even if it was only for a moment, and seize control of Iori's body.

Iori didn't like that. Even if he had wrestled the control back to his own consciousness, Orochi had implied he could - and what was worse, he would - do the hijacking again, if only to be with his _Little One_ , like he had called Harry, once again.

Briefly, Iori entertained visiting Kusanagi to re-seal the bastard for good, but the thought of seeing Kyo being all lovey - dovey with his main squeeze. It was sickening enough for Iori to consider using his flames, however painful their summoning was, to burn them to ashes.

Love, for all of its majesty, sucked.

Even now, the sickening burning coursed through his veins, as if both a mockery and warning to his attentions.

He could leave Harry – the burning promptly intensified, making him choke back an infuriated scream of pain.

 _Dammit._ Now he regretted re-absorbing the jewel. The vein on Iori's head throbbed with the force of his anger. Curse or not, the next time he saw that Orochi bastard, the fool will _burn._

He almost regretted chasing the green-eyed foreigner and demanding that he finish the song.

But if anything, Iori wasn't a quitter, and no snake entity in unrequited love with the planet would stop him from getting what he wanted.

The pain dwindled to a hot embers that seemed almost approving in their intensity, and Iori's eyebrow twitched again.

Oh, it was _so_ on. Nobody made a fool out of Yagami Iori and got away from it.

"Meow?"

Sighing, he poured the rest of the milk in front of his feline companion.

"I really ought to find you a name, little one." He murmured as he watched the kitten happily lap up its second serving.

Or…

Iori got a strange idea.

A strange, horrible, no good idea.

* * *

 _ **/To Be Continued/**_


	6. Chapter 6

_HOW I LOVE YOU_

* * *

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own _Harry Potter_ or _King of Fighters._ But I do sneak away their characters into my stories….

 _ **Shout Out:**_ Once more into the breach, so to speak. This time, it's Harry's turn to swallow some cold, hard truths. _**Suzu no Miya**_ , trouble will come in the next chapter. I am just pondering in what shape I want to give it to the two unfortunate schmucks that are doomed to room together in this story _ **. Sillvog**_ , that error haunted me. I don't know how it even got into the text. But thanks for the laugh! Iori is planning something dumb, reckless idiot he is.

 _ **Warnings:**_ _**AU-verse, SLASH,**_ not beta-read, Iori-stupidity pending.

* * *

Harry's day began quietly, which was a good sign after the last night's revelations. Yawning widely, Harry set the teakettle on the stove to heat the water for tea. As Andromeda would say - when in doubt, calm down and have a cup of tea. And right now, Harry was in a sore need of having some Harry-time, without his newest roommate and his snake appendage included.

Green eyes blinked blearily though the glasses at the fridge contents. There was a pack of eggs, some fresh vegetables, and he would be out of milk today, too. Iori's little obsession with milk was a little bit concerning, because the guy was already huge and he definitely didn't have fragile bones anywhere in his body. Fragile ego, maybe, but Harry doubted that drinking copious amounts of milk could help that. Mentally making a note on what to buy, he took out a small onion and an egg with a piece of butter.

He fished a small pan out of its cabinet and also put it on stove and then knocked the gas on. The water in teakettle was already boiling, so he fetched out a small orange and blue frog-shaped container to scoop out a small tablespoon of green powder to put into the water. Leaving the tea to simmer, he quickly cut the onion into small pieces, dropping half of the chopped up vegetable and a piece of butter into the heated pan and stirred it. While he waited for the onion to get glazed, he cracked the egg into the cup and beat its contents into a smooth mixture, adding some salt and pepper for seasoning. Seeing that the onion pieces in the pan were already done, he poured the egg mix in. Waiting a moment or two he then stirred to make sure that the pieces were being cooked evenly - or as evenly as the differently sized pieces could be. The kitchen air was enveloped in the pleasant smell of fried eggs with onion and tea, making Harry smile with satisfaction as he placed the food on the plate and added the other half of chopped onions. Humming happily, he poured himself a tea and snatched a slice of toast and then sat down at the table to enjoy the simple food he had prepared for himself.

He enjoyed the morning, despite its dreary atmosphere outside the window. Right this moment, all the troubles that plagued him - the heartbreak, his unusual guest and his snake-stalker- seemed so far away they may as well be on the other side of the world. It was his vacation - even if was shaping into a more permanent version of it, but there were no annoying stalker, no well-meaning grannies or blundering idiots that thought they knew Harry better than anyone else and had the right to plan his future however they wished. Saturday was a good day in Harry's humble opinion - the only things he had to do were to clean out the apartment, which could be done in an hour or two, courtesy of his Dursley-acquired skills, and then he could take some time for himself. Maybe he could even make some progress on that song Iori was so persistently hounding him about. Go to the local shrine he had intended to visit this week and then bake some cookies. No need to be cooped in the flat for a whole day.

* * *

The shrine was beautiful. The _torii_ somehow reminded Harry of Iori's hair – the rich red, warm color of the gates was intense, yet still subdued enough not to be overly obnoxious. A pair of kitsune statues with tiny red cloaks guarded the entrance, making Harry smile with amusement when he thought of two certain pranksters and their animagus' forms. George and Fred managed to transform, and their spiritual animal was - not very surprising - a fox. After a war, when Harry still stayed at Burrow, the twins often changed into foxes to cuddle with him at night to ward away night terrors, but that was a secret known only to three of them. Fred now had a clipped right ear and George's right front paw was a little weaker, but the two troublemakers still took the advantage of their animal forms to shamelessly beg off Harry's cooking whenever the green-eyed wizards deigned to cook. Harry bought a small postcard with the beautifully drawn kitsunes frolicking among the stormy gray clouds and resolved to send it to the troublesome twosome, if only to reassure them that he was alright.

He got to see the _honden_ (main hall) and _haiden_ (offering hall), but to his great disappointment, there were no _noh_ performaces held at the stage at that time.

* * *

"Do you want to write a wish?" A kind elderly priest asked, smiling at the green-eyed youth. The messy-haired young man grabbed his attention because he seemed lost, as if searching for a purpose. In his long time, Yamato has seen many of people pass through the shrine - some of them happy, some sad, some in search for a guidance, and some like birds, resting here for a moment, before departing onward. This young man shouldn't have attracted his attention, what with him being clad in dark brown coat with thick gray woolen scarf around his neck to stave off the cold. He wasn't anything different from many of the tourists walking across the holy grounds right now.

Except for his eyes. The eyes that were too tired and weary to be on such a young face. Yamato knew those eyes - he knew them intimately, because once upon a time, when he looked into the mirror, it reflected the very same eyes – tired, broken, and lifeless. Whatever had shattered this one's core had to be very hard and would take a long time to heal.

"What would I wish for?" The young man replied as he inclined his head respectfully. Yamato hummed thoughtfully as he swished around the _harissen._ "Anything you wish. Wealth. Power. Success. Love." With every word he uttered, the young man's face darkened, but at the last one, he outright flinched.

' _A-hah. So, love problem, then.'_ Yamato hummed, amused. Thankfully there were not many visitors, so he wasn't pressed to take care of many people at once. Not that he needed too – his foolish apprentices definitely needed as much training as they could get to be some day respectable priests themselves.

"Love is not for me." The green eyed stranger uttered with conviction, making Yamato to blink. "Why? Do you think you are undeserving of love?" The priest's question was soft, but to the point. An uncomfortable shrug answered him. "I… don't know. My parents are dead. I lost the woman I love to the friend who betrayed us." Green eyes darkened with hurt and anger. "I don't think he would be good for her. But she chose him and there's not anything I could do about it." The yellow and orange edged maple tree leaves were swaying in the wind, a bold counterpoint to the solemn gray and dark brown shades of the temple.

"But you love them both." Yamato supplied softly, making the younger man's head nod jerkily. "I died - literally - for her. Only for her. So that she would live. But then, miraculously, I got to live again. I was so happy, thinking that I had a chance to tell her how I feel and maybe, just maybe, she would return my feelings. I still see her, dirty clothes and messy hair, her face smudged with ashes, how she fell in his arms. Happy. As if the last three months hadn't happened at all." They began to walk, Yamato leading the youth to the garden, feeling that it would do much to relax the youth beside him.

"And then what?" Yamato asked, entranced with the story. He felt that the young man wasn't telling everything, but his honest, stark narration was compelling in its own way. Their steps were slow and measured, with the stranger's stepping lightly over the stones, leaving nary a sound in their wake.

"I went away." The answer was brutally honest, enough to make Yamato flinch. "I couldn't bear seeing them being so happy together – I was happy for them, but I am still thinking that she should've been happier with me. Sometimes I ask myself if I should've done something more to make her love me more." A bitter chuckle. "But in the end, everything I've lost was for naught." They were now in the small garden, half-hidden by the canopies made from maple tree leaves.

"No. It wasn't worthless." Yamato countered forcefully. "You let her be happy with one she loves. Isn't that worth something?" Bushy white eyebrows lifted in askance as he looked at the youth.

A small bitter smile forced itself on the strange visitor's lips. "She doesn't know. And I hope she never does. It would tear her in two, if she were to choose between her and him."

Yamato looked to the pond. "You did the right thing." He murmured his eyes distant when he remembered something hidden in the mists of his own memory. "You were hurt, but you did the right thing. That alone makes you a good person, because not many could do what you had done, letting her go. She was one very lucky woman to have your love."

* * *

"She _is_." Harry eyed the monk strangely. "I still love her. Why do you talk like I don't love her anymore?"

The monk barked out an amused laugh. " _Hah!_ People love and have their hearts broken all the time. No matter how much they swear they are done with love, love itself isn't done with them. Believe me, youngling, there _is_ someone out there just for you. Right now you may not be seeing it. I don't doubt the strength of your feelings for your friend, but our hearts are big enough to love not just one person, but many people. You may not believe me right now, but it's the truth." He stroked his chest-length white beard with gnarly hand, dark eyes twinkling mischievously, before they softened as he looked at Harry. "You are a loving person and worthy of love. Never doubt that."

Blushing, Harry had to duck his head to hide the blush blooming on his cheeks.

"Care to join me for tea?" The priest's good-natured question made him raise his head bashfully as he looked at the old man, still embarrassed by the compliment he got just a few moments ago.

"If you wouldn't mind, I would be happy to." He mumbled out, and ducking his head again, causing the old man to laugh out loud once more.

* * *

Harry seriously wondered if the tea was some kind of magic. He never felt so relaxed like when he had his tea with Yamato-san and talking about his impressions of the time, spent in Japan. The man hadn't touched the love subject again, which Harry was thankful for. Somehow, he found himself ranting about Iori - honestly, he still didn't understand just why did the redhead insist that he should have finish the song when Harry was completely sure Iori would've done much better job all on his own, without Harry-mess in his way.

Iori was a harsh taskmaster. Harry had to write and rewrite his work at least fifteen times by now, and that bastard still wasn't satisfied! It was enough to drive Harry to either to hex or throttle him until he was blue in the face. Harry still didn't know whether to hex and throttle Orochi too, just out of principle. The snake face number two had saved him from Iori's pestering about song for a time, but on the other hand, Harry got his newest stalker, two for the price of one, really.

The old priest listened to his ramblings, amused. He was sorely tempted to guffaw at some points, because really, that youth had some serious comedy gold what with his narrative skills, not that he intended to be funny, and it did his aging heart well to be entertained like he was right now.

"You said he was Orochi? Yamata no Orochi?" He deigned to interrupt the youth, still smiling in bemusement.

Green eyes behind the glasses blinked at him. "Yeah, that's the one. Iori's eyes went kind of red with black vertical slit when he was possessed, too."

"Hrm." Yamato grunted as he gripped his own cup once more to make another sip of tea. Possession wasn't unusual, even if nowadays was pretty rare, all things considered. "You said your roommate was Iori. What is his surname?"

"Yagami." Harry replied, confused. "Why?"

 _Yagami Iori._ Yamato frowned. The name was familiar to him for some reason.

"He's been called _Riot of Blood_ by some thugs that Iori rescued me from." Harry peered at the pondering priest inquisitively, when suddenly, the priest's grip around the cup clenched to the point his knuckles whitened out.

" _Yasakani._ The cursed ones." Yamato whispered, his old eyes distant. "Young one, Iori's warnings weren't for naught. If Orochi has slipped the seal again, the world is in danger."

"Orochi? Dangerous?" Harry parroted, confused. "But _why?_ He was acting normally around me, no mentions of my demise or whatever in this venue!"

"Can you say the same for everyone else?" Yamato's rebuke was sharp and on the edge, making the green-eyed wizard flinch.

"N-no, but - " Harry tried to reason, but Yamato steamrolled him. "Then you have no reason to trust its word. Orochi _hates_ humans. He wants to destroy them – utterly. "Placing the cup on the table, he bent forward, dark eyes looking into Harry's own green ones intently. "We don't use sealing arts on a whim. Yagami and Kusanagi clans have teamed up to seal the beast for a reason. And for it to surface up now of all times, when the two great clans are on their decline…" He shook his head. "It's troubling news."

"But Orochi could be re-sealed again." Harry tried, frowning. Yamato-san had raised some valid points, but Harry wasn't sold on the idea yet.

"Could be, couldn't be." Yamato hummed. "There was one other clan assisting in that first sealing so many years ago. Second sealing, there was Kagura-sama to help the things along, however she is still recovering from the ordeal of the latest sealing. Even with all three of them pooling their resources together, the sealing apparently wasn't strong enough."

"Why seal Orochi again, though? Why can't we just show him that humans aren't so bad?" Harry argued, his eyebrows scrunched in discontent.

"Can you stop the pollution? The overheating? The noise? The species' extinction? The overuse of the Earth's resources?" Yamato's quiet question stopped Harry flat. "You can convince Orochi - if, and only _if_ you can do all five things and ensure that they are never to be repeated. Orochi sees himself as Gaia's guardian, and humankind has abused her resources and place enough to deserve a harsh punishment."

Harry opened his mouth to rebuff the accusations. He was a wizard and he wasn't overspending the natural resources, thank you very much! But whatever indignation he felt flaring in his chest died a quick death when he thought about the non-magical majority of the people. The ones who got used to modern conveniences, needing them so much and in such great quantities that they were literally leeching off the resources intended for their descendants at the pace unheard of.

"… I can't." He finally replied, defeated. "At most that I can do, is to mitigate some damage - plant new trees for the cut-down trees, clean out the used water, keep the pollution I cause myself at minimum." Yamato-san nodded solemnly.

"But that won't be enough." He supplied. "And that's why Orochi has to be contained at all costs."

* * *

 _ **/To Be Continued/**_


	7. Chapter 7

_HOW I LOVE YOU_

* * *

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own _Harry Potter_ or _King of Fighters_. Nope.

 _ **Shout Out:**_ Seventh chapter already. I had a ball writing it, despite the hard themes contained within, but nothing that a good dose of our intrepid duo couldn't cure _. **R.A. Cross**_ \- Orochi as a muggle hater. Oh, wow. Let's just be happy he didn't meet Voldemort. But so true in retrospect...Overall, Iori is beginning to dig his hole. And it all starts so very innocently, too.

 _ **Warnings:** **AU-verse, SLASH,**_ Iori gets to digging and cuteness ahoy.

* * *

The return to his temporary lodgings was silent. Even shopping for the ingredients for the cookies and dinner didn't lift Harry's mood or tugged his thoughts away from the Orochi-sized problem.

Yamato-san was very helpful in his answers, but Harry was still confused over Orochi's attitude toward humankind, and him apparently being some kind of a special exception to the rule, yet again. Exasperated, Harry shook his head.

What he wouldn't give for having Hermione here right now. She would've had answers for this mess –

Grimacing slightly, Harry put the last of the groceries in the fridge before pausing.

At least a month passed already and it still hurt. It still hurt to remember her beaming face looking up to Ron, like he held the answers to all world's problems in his eyes. Harry swallowed. A month, a day and sixteen hours since he had died and returned back to the living, all for her. He gripped the fabric on his chest, the knuckles whitening as he bowed his head.

It was nothing as easy like the train station bullshit he had expected. It was a walk across what seemed to be the deepest ravines of hell, fire and brimstone, each step stripping him of a little bit of humanity in process. He literally sold his soul, if only to return back among the living. In comparison with that endless ravine, covered with jagged rocks, bloody red sky with ominous gray and black clouds, shrouded in despair and hopelessness, going against Voldemort was a walk in the park. If he had gone in with his garments snow white, when he had finally found his exit, those garments were tattered pitch black garments that may or may not once assembled some kind of garments. Of course, the change wasn't visible on body, except for his eyes, but if there would be one to look at the state of his soul, Harry supposed he would be found wanting.

Sometimes, he still felt like a monster in a human skin. He remembered Ron's incredulous, angry stares that night when he chose to leave their quest in order to be safe, the coward. He remembered Hermione's terrified eyes when he went head to head with the dragon in Gringotts, forcing the beast to acquiesce to his demand and carry them out. He still felt the perverse joy that coursed in his veins when he witnessed Voldemort's triumph over having taken over the Ministry of Magic successfully. When he stood in the ruins, among the ashes and smoke, and Voldemort's corpse six steps away from him, he looked more like a demon than an avenging angel.

It wasn't hope, joy and love that guided him out of the plains of misery he had found himself in when Voldemort had killed him. It was desperation, wrath and fear – an outright terror what would happen to her, if he had given up now. So he hadn't. He hadn't given up, and in an exchange, he had lost everything.

Why would he be an exception for Orochi, pathetic as he was? Yamato-san was right - Harry himself couldn't have done anything to avert Orochi's wrath to his fellow humans' idiocy when concerning planet and her resources. If he had been really desperate, he could've accidentally exposed the wizarding world to the Muggle one, but the price for it would be high, and nothing could guarantee that the two factions could live alongside each other peacefully.

And all of it happened because Voldemort somehow decided to have a heyday with Harry and apparently superglue to him a snake-attraction curse.

There was also Iori to consider. The tall musician could be termed a strangle amalgamation of Weasley children - brown eyes, red hair - blood red, instead their more ginger-shaded one, tall and built like a brick house. Harry flushed as he looked through the window, absentmindedly noting the sun setting behind the horizon and dipping the streets below into the darkness, interspersed with reluctantly turned on lights. The gray wool underneath his hand was soft, yet did nothing to warm his fingers. Iori was tall like Bill, and muscular like Charlie, but his body was more defined, looking a lot less rough than the dragon tamer's, though Harry didn't have any illusions that Iori couldn't hold his own against his opponents. His hair was also sinfully soft, and accentuating the strong facial features, even if it was in a strange cut, sometimes reminding Harry of some kind of sleeked-down rooster's crown. His eyes were brown that sometimes reminded Harry of a chocolate when Iori was relaxed enough, and another time, they were like strongest exotic colored steel. His neck was always enclosed in a thin collar with a silver buckle that made Harry wonder the significance of – if it had any. It should've looked ridiculous on such strong guy like Iori, but instead, it accentuated that particular body part's pale skin and sinews, teasing and taunting any outlookers with the secrets it held within its appearance.

If Hermione saw Iori, would she left Ron for him? Iori, despite all his gruffness, brash manners and outright rude remarks was surprisingly calm and quiet guy, and girls always appreciated musicians, didn't they? Something with musicians being more romantic than ordinary guy folks. Shaking his head at the inane thought, Harry relaxed his hand to let go of the hold on the soft woolen pullover on his chest and turned to the cabinets in order to gather the ingredients for the cookies. _'Hermione isn't that kind of a girl.'_ He thought to himself, a small fond smile stealing itself on his lips. She had a chance with Viktor that fourth year, and Harry would have known if something had happened between the silent Bulgarian and the fiery Gryffindor bookworm. But she didn't - she let Viktor go, even when the guy came back in England to help the rebellion, that wasn't even his concern in the first place. She had chosen to go with them – Ron and Harry, while she could've gone with her parents into hiding on the another end of the world.

Harry still couldn't understand just what was Hermione seeing in Ron – the youngest male Weasley wasn't a good fit for the brainy witch. Harry freely admitted that he also lacked in that department - hell, he doubted than any males could compete with her intellect-wise. But Ron also had an emotional range of a teaspoon. He was a messy eater, brash, quick-tempered, jealous and very awkward when it came to apologies.

Iori also seemed to sometimes have an emotional range of a teaspoon, but his table manners were impeccable. Check on quick temper and awkwardness, too. Foot-in-mouth was apparently curse for redheads, causing Harry to suppress a small snicker when he fetched a bowl to mix the ingredients in. What he wouldn't have given to have the two introduced to each other…fireworks would be guaranteed!

 _Or not._ Harry huffed, annoyed when he remembered that Iori wasn't Ron-like slouch in intelligence department. Truthfully, he began to like Iori's company, even if his Hermione-like tendency for perfectionism when the song writing was concerned drove Harry to the brink of reason and beyond. He was a serious guy, but still funny, even if he probably didn't mean to be. He still had that kind of humanity within, a small ember of gentleness and concern that warmed Harry when he was on its receiving end.

Humming the melody of what he began to think of as their song, Harry set out to make the white chocolate almond cookies with cranberries.

* * *

Iori couldn't help but smirk when he stopped at the front door of Harry's apartment.

His plan, if it worked, would guarantee him a song out of it at in a record time. As a bonus point, he wouldn't have to worry about his little companion, and additional bonus point, it would embarrass Harry into one of those fetching little blushes that so amused Iori.

Of course he would have to sacrifice some of his own dignity for it, but Iori was a tough guy and Harry was a certified bleeding heart.

Inhaling slightly and keeping a hold on his latest gift – alright, first! – gift to his roommate, he entered.

"I'm home!" He called out.

* * *

Harry heard Iori call out the greeting.

"Welcome!" He called back, curious on what Iori had been doing the whole day. Not that he didn't appreciate having some free time from song writing, which he was still pants at, but the song was important to Iori and for him to disappear for a whole day without any prior notice was strange enough.

He turned around to get the second to last round of cookies out of the oven.

* * *

The scents wafting in the air were divine. Sweet and spicy, and warm, and Iori found his feet leading him to the kitchen unfailingly. He should've gotten used to the pleasant aromas when Harry was cooking, but it always warmed some cold piece of his heart to take a short moment to enjoy the smells and guess what they were.

They weren't the fare of Iori's childhood, but a mixture of different cultures. Of course, the rice was still prevalent, but Iori enjoyed potatoes, seafood and meat in different shapes or forms. However, the cookies were quickly becoming Iori's Achilles' heel.

Chocolate cookies. Coffee cookies. Peanut butter cookies, Iori loved them all.

They almost diverted him from his evil plan.

Almost.

But the sight that greeted his eyes definitely didn't.

Entering the kitchen, Iori paused at the doorstep, just watching, letting the hold on his gift go. It was quite firmly saddled on his shoulder right now, as quiet as he himself was, only it's slight weight reminding Iori that it was here.

The mellow light shrouded Harry's form in a gentle embrace. Harry's soft gray sweater and dark brown trousers were a stark contrast to the vanilla yellow of his apron, the wide ties knotted into a simple bow enhancing the slender waist. The wizard's hair was as messy as always, tied into a half-ponytail with some bangs escaping their confines, framing his face.

For a moment, Iori was speechless. This was a sight he should've been used to already, but right then and there, it was as if he was seeing it for the first time.

"Give me fifteen minutes, I will prepare a quick stir-fry, okay?" Harry's voice floated to him.

It was an ordinary voice. One that stumbled over the Japanese language, making more mistakes than not.

It shouldn't have had the power to enchant him so.

Swallowing, he stepped closer, half-afraid that the scene would vanish from him, like some kind of a cruel daydream.

' _This was not in the script! Abort! Abort!'_ His brain screamed at him, blaring all the klaxons of rationality, but Iori was deaf to the voice of reason.

"Hey." His voice was low as he crossed the threshold, and with a few steps, found himself behind his benefactor, embracing that temptingly trim waist and inhaling the intriguing scent clinging to the green-eyed youth's back of the neck.

"Be my boyfriend."

* * *

 _Thunderstruck._ This was how it felt when bolt of lightning crashed through your body, Harry supposed, when his body froze in Iori's hold.

Those strong arms were holding him close to the warm torso and enveloping him in the scent that was some kind of spice mixed with something that was definitely Iori. The red hair was tickling the side of his neck, so soft and so temptingly close. And the voice. Iori didn't know, but his voice could be used as a lethal weapon. That purred-out proposal was enough to melt any sane woman's bones into puddle. If Harry had thought Snape's voice was good, the double spy had nothing on Iori's own timbre.

His jaw opened, working uselessly as he struggled to find an answer, but his mind was curiously blank of everything but Iori.

' _Be my boyfriend.'_ Why did such a simple phrase have to re-roll through his brain in a continuous loop of heat and sin?

And why did it sound so damn logical?

"Ah - Are you sure?" The weak query escaped Harry's mouth, and immediately, Harry wanted to bash his head into the nearest hard surface. Not _'no'_ , not _'what the hell'_ , not _'are you out of your mind',_ but a pathetic, wobbling question whether Iori was sure, as if Harry was a Victorian-timed damsel in distress, waiting for her paramour's assurance that he is well and truly in love with her.

The hold on his waist tightened, and Iori's right hand sneaked across Harry's chest to press their bodies even closer together. Harry was acutely aware of Iori looming over him, but for some reason, he wasn't irritated like he would have been with anyone else.

Then, something else brushed his other side of the neck, a little bit warmer and a lot softer and fuzzier nuzzling his ear.

Hastily, Harry lifted his left arm, and just in time, too, to steady the kitten that was about to tumble on the hot tray he had just pulled out of the oven.

His face set into the stone.

"Iori." He turned around to look into those brown eyes. Brown was truly an inadequate description of the color of Iori's eyes. It was more like walnut, caramel and gingerbread mixed in with a dash of cinnamon, so warm and sweet. He allowed the kitten to climb down his arm and into his hold.

"You didn't just ask me to be your boyfriend in order to smuggle in your cat?"

* * *

 _ **/To Be Continued/**_


	8. Chapter 8

_HOW I LOVE YOU_

* * *

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own _Harry Potter_ or _King of Fighters_. Just making things interesting for their characters.

 _ **Shout Out:**_ I was grinning the whole day, courtesy of your reviews. Thank you, from the depths of my heart. _**Unwanted Hero**_ , loved your review, you made me laugh with imaging them as a couple already, even if technically, they aren't yet. This one is for you! _**Sillvog**_ , enjoy the roller-coaster and don't worry, the kitten will stay. Any suggestions for her name? _**RavenWhiteMoi**_ , you betcha. Harry is practically synonym for trouble, and Iori just has that kind of luck. But I think Iori is good for Harry, making him think of something else than his unrequited love, even if at this stage, Harry is more in an angry-wife mood than anything else. _**Toytoya**_ , exactly. But Harry is not exactly shining example of socialization either _ **. Suzu no Miya,**_ yeah, Iori's world is going to be turned upside down and sideways. Stay tuned!

 _ **Warnings:**_ _**AU-verse, SLASH**_ , Iori can't get out of trouble (should be a hashtag or something, really), cuteness, despair and beta-read.

* * *

Iori blinked.

"Eh, what?" He questioned, feeling like a fool. The question was so sudden he wasn't really ready to answer it. Especially when Harry was quite fetching, all indignant with the kitty bundle in his arms and still in Iori's hold.

' _How did he know?'_ The first thought in his head. Iori gulped. Did Harry have some kind of a sixth sense for when he was not telling the truth?

' _Deny, deny, deny.'_ Second one.

He coughed awkwardly, resisting the urge to look away like misbehaving little boy.

"Well, no – "

"You _are_ aware that we are forbidden to have animals here?" Harry asked him archly, his eyebrows quirking in askance, but he still tickled the tiny kitten under her chin, making her purr loudly.

This, Iori already had an answer to. Shaking his head off of cobwebs created by cuteness of the duo in his hold, he smirked.

"Actually, I've already spoken with Mikoto-san, and she agreed with us having her." Mirthfully, he watched those viridian eyes widen and Harry's jaw drop with surprise.

* * *

Harry couldn't help but gape.

"You actually went behind my back to obtain the fur ball." He spoke out, his voice flat with disbelief. Iori nodded smugly, that damn smirk still on his face. Harry wanted to knock some sense in him. Badly. The furry little body wiggled against him, purring loudly as it nuzzled his chest and Harry resisted the impulse to melt. He tried to think about Umbridge's horrible pink collection of plates with kittens meowing at him hanging from the walls. Meowing day in and day out, their creepy eyes following him everywhere, looking like little minions of darkness, despite their harmlessness.

Undoubtedly this seemingly innocent fur ball was the same.

"Yes. She already had her shots. And I thought she would be a nice surprise for you." Actually, Mikoto-san outright squealed when she saw the tiny ball of cuteness. And when Iori bashfully admitted that it was his gift of gratitude to Harry for his kindness, the elderly woman all but pushed him out, especially when she got him to promise to take photos of the two of them. Iori would've done that regardless, but at least he got through the hurdle of getting the permission of the landlady. What remained, however, was to convince Harry to accept the furry interloper in their humble little abode.

"Why, exactly, did you ask me to be your boyfriend, then?" Harry returned back to the core problem.

Which shouldn't have been the main problem in the first place. Still, Harry felt his heart jump with anticipation… or maybe fear?

Green eyes narrowed. What was Iori's angle here? They weren't exactly forward with their sexual orientations, but Harry's heart belonged to Hermione, and he assumed that Iori was the same as him.

Which was a mistake.

Instead, he nearly got a heart attack when he received Iori's little proposition - more like command - to be the redhead's boyfriend. They were roommates. _Just_ roommates. In fact, they shared the same apartment for roughly one week, which was not long enough period for either of them develop _that_ kind of feelings for each other. Or at least, Harry hoped it wasn't. Iori was grumpy, brash…. gentle, mischievous… _No_. Iori was an acquaintance at best, even if he understood Harry even better than Hermione, which was a feat all on its own, especially when Harry hadn't told him the whole truth about his life yet.

He swallowed, looking into Yagami's - no, Iori's eyes. Warm, dark, soft and sweet and _gah,_ they were not helping Harry from preventing himself being almost drowned in them. He acutely felt his heart beat elevate and strengthen, as if it was one kind of a living, beating lodestone, pointing him to the North that was Yagami Iori as he gazed in his eyes.

So pretty. Like Hermione's –

He jolted.

Hermione's eyes. Dark, warm, the color of mocha coffee. Just one shade, instead of Iori's many ones, but Harry loved it, with how expressive they were. Glittering with affection, flashing with anger and ire, glinting with mischief and gleaming with tears, both of joy and sadness.

 _Hermione._ He loved Hermione! He had to; his heart was still broken -

He began to extract himself out of Iori's hold, unconsciously cuddling the kitten to his chest. "Never mind. You weren't serious, anyway." He muttered out, looking down at the unusually colored kitten in an effort to avoid Iori's gaze as he headed to the window.

His shoulder slumped.

He was unlovable, and unknowingly, Iori had proved it to him just so a few moments before.

* * *

Iori felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice-cold water on him.

When Harry's eyes widened and he jolted in Iori's hold, the fighter knew that something was very wrong. Those green eyes which were usually like most beautiful, deepest green emeralds dulled out, making Iori's own heart, which had been floating on a comfortable cloud of happiness mere moments ago outright crash onto painful concrete called reality.

He had seen that gaze in his own eyes when he was suffering from his own unrequited love to that bastard. He knew just how much it hurt. And now he hurt someone who was nothing but kind to him, who had accepted him into his own home and demanded so very little in return.

Harry's back, turned against Iori, was a line of silent defiance, defeat and suffering all wound into one silent line and Iori wanted to punch himself for being such callous bastard. His chest felt too tight, and the warmth he enjoyed mere moments ago now seemed like the coldest of the winters chilling across the planes of his body.

' _You weren't serious, anyway._ ' Those words burned like acid in Iori's conscience, so very true in their accusation.

But the atmosphere in the kitchen was so welcoming, like a home Iori never knew but supposed it should've felt like if he ever got it, that he was simply pulled into the scene, so to speak.

For a moment, what he spoke was true. For a moment, he didn't see Kyo, didn't wish him being here, he saw only that small, messy-haired foreigner taking care of the plate full of recently baked cookies.

"I –" He swallowed. "She is for you. Your gift, I mean." The words tumbled out of his throat awkwardly. He wanted to step forward – wished to be brave enough and envelope the little one - how right Orochi's description of the youth was - into his own arms once again, to soothe the hurt he had unintentionally caused and to somehow heal it. The silence was only interspersed by the kitten's loud purring and occasional mewl or two, as if the tiny animal was asking why her new owner was in such a downtrodden mood all of sudden.

The uncomfortable silence was interrupted by the beep of an oven, prompting Harry to turn around and hand the squirming kitten back to Iori, his eyes not meeting the fighter's.

"It's okay. Give me some time; I will have dinner on the table in fifteen minutes." He murmured, his voice uncomfortably tight as he snatched the mitten off the counter and put it on.

Iori awkwardly retreated to sit on one of the chairs, absentmindedly tickling kitten's chin. He wouldn't allow himself the cowardice of retreating in the room. He made that mess, however unintentionally, and by all that was holy, he would resolve it! He watched Harry open the oven and take out the last plate of cookies and put it onto the sink. Then, he walked to the fridge for the ingredients for stir fry. Quickly and efficiently, Harry began to chop the onions and peppers, his movements sure and swift. Iori was always entranced with Harry's movements when he was cooking – it was like the green-eyed youth was dancing rather than cooking and he enjoyed their little chats while Harry was working on whatever sumptuous dish he decided would be their lunch or dinner. But now, there was an uncomfortable silence.

"I am sorry." He spoke out, causing Harry to pause before he resumed his chopping, even if with a tiny amount greater force than before. Mentally, Iori cringed.

"Look. I said it's alright. You simply went too far, it could've happened to anyone. Can we put that behind us already?"

"I can move out if you want." Iori offered, and this time, Harry's knife slipped, causing him to yelp with pain as the sharp blade sliced down his knuckles.

" _Ouch!"_ The knife clattered on the wooden board noisily as Harry jerked back, causing Iori to jump up, his eyes wide with horror.

"Harry - !"

"You idiot. _Why_ would you do that?" Harry hissed out, glaring at Iori as he awkwardly moved the plate with cookies onto the stove before he opened the pipe and harshly thrusted his hand underneath the jet of water.

Standing up, Iori hurriedly approached him, reaching for Harry's wounded hand, but Harry swatted it away. "You're hurt!" Iori protested, glaring, one hand clutching to the kitten now pressed against his chest like some kind of a live plushy.

" _Duh,_ genius. You can't just throw that kind of a curve-ball and expect me to act all happy and gay!" Harry spat out, pausing when Iori flinched at the last word.

Oh. _Oh._ Right now, Harry felt rather stupid. Iori was _that_ kind of a person, wasn't he? Well, of course he was , because he had outright asked Harry to be his boyfriend, what _else_ would he be, a coconut on Mars?

Harry sighed. This was just not his day, he supposed. He stretched up to open a cabinet and fetch the murtlap essence, only to be intercepted by Iori's hand reaching up and retrieving the said item. Unscrewing the lid with his right hand, Harry then scooped a good glob of the healing balm and spread in onto the wounded area, grimacing at the mess he had unintentionally caused by his mishandling of the knife. He ignored the stings zinging up his nerves with an expert ease. It was nothing compared to _Cruciatus,_ but still unpleasant in its own way.

"I don't care about you loving someone who is of the same gender as you, Iori. I may not be playing for the same team, so to speak, but I still consider you my friend, yeah?" Harry tried to act nonchalant, to bury those sweet little moments he had been wrapped in Iori's warmth into oblivion. He was still in love with _her_ , after all.

* * *

Iori didn't know whether to feel disappointed or relieved. On one hand, Harry was his understanding self, even after Iori's mega-blunder, but on the other hand, he couldn't but feel discontent at Harry's nonchalant acceptance and drawing the borders, so to speak. Iori's jaw tightened as he frowned. He shouldn't have felt like that, - he ought to feel grateful that Harry still considered him worthy of his friendship, and he loved _that person_ still.

Even if the person in question was unavailable, ironically hetero, jerk-ass that got to Iori's nerves more often than on his good side. Absentmindedly, he thrusted the kitten to now confused Harry and leading him to the chair.

"Sit down. I will take care of the dinner." He mumbled, still occupied with the latest discovery, missing green eyes widening with horror as he turned back to the stove.

"Iori, NO!" For once, the barked-out command didn't deter the Yagami heir from reaching for the pan and a cup of water.

* * *

Harry glared at the sheepish form of Iori over the Thai takeout they had to order after the latest cooking mishap, courtesy of Iori.

Both of them were sooty, with Iori's red hair a vivid contrast to the dark grey ashes smeared on his face.

"Pray tell me, how in all that's holy, did you manage to burn water of all things? And with only a burner and a pan to the boot!" He hissed at his roommate, incensed. The kitten was still hiding under the nearby couch, just as sooty as her new owners. Thankfully she wasn't harmed, but she got a good scare out of it.

Iori shrugged. "Must be some kind of a talent." He replied lamely, wincing at the damage done. The walls were black, and the air, previously sweetly-smelling of just-baked biscuits, was now overwhelmed with the characteristic note of a wildfire.

He didn't know how to explain it either, honest! Iori just put the pan on the burner, poured in the water, then turned on the stove, when Harry jumped toward him in a futile attempt to prevent the latest cooking disaster in the making.

Just when Harry reached Iori, the entire thing went kaboom. The kitten screeched, hightailing from Harry's arms to under the couch, hissing ferociously at the two idiots playing with fire, while both Iori and Harry stood in front of the soot-ruined stove like two sculptures caught in the moment of surprise, Harry because he was too late, and Iori because he didn't think the disaster would actually happen. It was just a cup of water, a pan and a burner; nothing could've gone wrong, right?

But it did, and spectacularly so. Harry didn't want to remember the face of the delivery guy when he went out to receive their order, so furious and ashamed he was. In this moment he sorely wished he would be able to _Obliviate_ himself of this latest episode of misery in his life.

 _Iori the_ _Blood Riot?_ Hah. Try _Iori the_ _Kitchen Disaster!_

"Just for that, "Harry tried to keep his temper under the wraps as he stabbed at his chicken with cashew nuts with the chopstick as if he wanted to murder his dish. "You will clean the mess out. And Iori…" He paused, his eyes glinting demonically, causing Iori to scoot away, when he got a really, really bad feeling.

Iori's gut was right.

The verdict for his misdeed was horrible.

Harry's grin could do the death gods proud with how dark and malicious it was.

"No cookies for you!"

Iori wasn't sure, but he may or may have not whimpered with despair.

(Later on, he would say it was a manly groan. Not a whimper. A groan, and a manly one at that. )

(Orochi would beg to differ.)

* * *

 _ **/To Be COntinued/**_


	9. Chapter 9

_HOW I LOVE YOU_

* * *

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own _Harry Potter_ or _King of Fighters._ 'Nuff said.

 _ **Shout Out:**_ Ninth one out. Well. Here goes. _**Sillvog,**_ kitten shall be nameless yet, at least until her 'parents' get together for real. Thanks for suggestions, Chaos one made me crack with amusement. Deinitely keeping it in my mind. _**Suzu no Miya,**_ glad to hear it amused you, and maybe the absence of cookies propmpted Iori to be a little bit better with Harry this time. Or not? _**Unwanted Hero**_ , Iori has a long, long way to go to convince Harry to the dark side, so to speak. But at least he made the first step. Sorry, no help from me in Mystic Messenger.

 _ **Warnings:**_ _**AU-verse, SLASH,**_ Iori may have even done something right this time. Shock.

* * *

The aftermath of the Kitchen Catastrophe 2.0 was fairly dull in comparison with its explosive beginning.

Of course, Harry had grumbled and bitched about the place being filled with soot and dirt, but he still managed to make a decent breakfast of waffles with pearl sugar and yoghurt with freshly cut strawberries, while the kitten got a small bowl of chilled milk.

Iori couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt at Harry's frazzled appearance. His roommate apparently didn't sleep well, what with the subtle bags under his eyes. His hair was also messier than usual, arranged in curly spikes, making Iori think of a drunken hedgehog's adventure with hair curlers going awry. Iori took a sip of his morning milk, careful to hide a smile behind the cup. It wouldn't do to make Harry bore aggravated than he already was.

Today, Harry was clothed in a too big green well-worn sweater, almost the same shade as his eyes, combined with baggy gray sweatpants at least three sizes too big for his body. It made Iori imagine what would Harry look like in his own clothes, with a small blush and a smile on his face when Iori greeted him in the morning. Iori thought back to the night before.

* * *

 _ **/Flashback/**_

After they had cleaned out the kitchen as best as they could at the time, they went into their rooms to sleep. However, the sleep hadn't come for Iori for a long time. Instead, he had thought about the happenings of the day and it's disastrous conclusion when he tucked himself into the bed.

' _You weren't serious, anyway._ ' Harry's words echoed in his mind, both disheartening and irritating to the redhead.

As far as he knew himself, Iori didn't term himself as fickle. Yes, he had mood swings at a drip of hat, so to speak, yes, he was exceedingly violent when he disliked violence with passion and yes, he could be extremely rude in the right circumstances - i.e. when people were stupid or arrogant enough, or combination of the both, to piss him off. And that triggered Iori's self-defense mechanisms like rudeness and violence like a charm. He didn't have patience to smooth-talk the idiots in complying with his wishes. Most of people were sheeple unable to think for themselves, after all.

Kusanagi Kyo and Potter Harry were the two exceptions.

Iori closed his eyes.

The two of them couldn't be more different, and for some reason, Iori liked both of them.

Kyo was cocky, irritating loudmouth who had the good fortune of having a normal life, aside his participation in the KoF tournaments and the supremely bad luck of being involved in the fights against heists of different villains who aimed to use the tournament for the stage to realize their no-good ambitions. When Iori first saw him, the Kusanagi idiot just rubbed him the wrong way. Period.

Looking back, Iori could honestly admit he was envious of Kyo's luck. Yagami family was anything but good, cursed as it was. Iori had been trained since he was able to walk, and the methods used for it weren't exactly gentle. When he was sixteen years old, Iori separated himself from his clan, thinking that if he was far enough, he could have lived a peaceful life.

He had been through some harsh times, until that thrice-damned invitation came. Iori had all the intentions of not competing in the tournament. And then his misfortune kicked in again, when he met him.

 _Kyo Kusanagi._ Iori practically saw red when he noticed the cocky bastard's back adorned with the familiar sigil of the Kusanagi clan, and his training, however hard he had tried to forget it, forced him to act.

 _No Kusanagi shall be left alive!_

And thus, Iori found himself in the mad medley that was his first King of Fighters tournament. Now when he knew the existence of the idiot, he simply couldn't ignore him anymore. His blood boiled even at the mere moment of his name.

Time hadn't dulled the feeling, just reshaped it.

He had found out that Kyo wasn't just a cocky idiot. Surprisingly, he had some redeeming qualities. He was kind to the kids, cheerful, optimistic, and protective and just the opposite of Iori. The sun to Iori's moon, as it were. Shame that this sun was already taken by some ignorant civilian girl. Iori's heart gave a painful lurch at the bitter memories and knowledge that even after all that He and Kyo came through, there was no chance for the Kusanagi heir to look at him with something akin to love.

Harry, though, came into Iori's life like a comet. Only visible if one was looking for it at the starry sky, popping up and then dipping back in the velvet darkness adorned with the tiny clusters of light called stars. It was by pure chance and luck Iori managed to take notice of him, all because of a small scrap of a paper napkin he had toyed with when he had been waiting on his food.

Harry was a spitfire. Iori couldn't help himself but needle him, enjoying seeing Harry squirm. It was always a battle, not necessarily physical, but of wits and words and heated glances with the additional munition of cookies. The redheaded fighter smiled with affection when he remembered Harry's little reactions. How he took Iori in and offered him a home - yes, Iori dared to say their little apartment a home, because it was a home. How he grumbled about the song writing, but acquiesced to Iori's demands, even if he was grumpy at the number of revisions he had to do. His smile when he got another word or kanji sign right. His embarrassment at the vending machines selling condoms. His curiosity about the culture around him.

How his eyes were too old for his face sometimes, when he thought that Iori wasn't watching him. That tired tilt of mouth as he looked at the teenagers chatting on their way out of school. How he stood up against the idiots that dared to scar his cheeks in an effort to make him pay the 'toll' for crossing their territory. How he hogged the blanket when they were watching TV, or even his habit of drinking tea in the morning, always with one cube of sugar and a dash of milk.

Harry didn't have any of Kyo's obnoxiously sunny light. Instead, he was a bit more world-weary, almost cynical sometimes, wanting to disappear among the masses of people like a comet among the stars, visible to only those who searched for it.

And much to Iori's chagrin, he was apparently into girls.

Iori's little decision of needling Harry with asking him to be his boyfriend was completely spontaneous at first. A little joke, geared to make Harry bristle at him and give him a motivation to finish the song as soon as possible.

But his little joke had turned back on him in a hurry.

That moment, when he asked Harry, Iori was actually serious. Not because he wanted to smuggle in the kitten - even if that had been part of the reason - but because it had been just the perfect moment and the right person.

And for one moment, it was all true, what with Harry's jewel-colored eyes, but so much warmer, gazing at him with awe and openness before they adopted a much sterner cast, which was almost instantly ruined by gentle way with which he treated the kitten.

But then, it all crashed down around Iori's ears as Harry jolted in his hold, his previously gently shining eyes becoming disenchanted and dull when he cuddled the kitten to himself before extracting out of Iori's hold and heading to the window.

Someone had hurt him, like Iori had been hurt, and Iori was the one to poke the wound open anew.

Harry had forgiven him, which was a small miracle on its own. But he also raised an invisible barrier with his mention of being heterosexual and simultaneously kicking Iori into a friend zone.

Iori's eyebrow twitched as he turned in the bed.

Being friend-zoned? More like being _dead-zoned_ , in Iori's not so humble opinion. It absolutely _galled_ Iori that Harry rejected him, no matter how reasonable the rejection had been. _Alright._ Iori exhaled the breath slowly, trying to hold his temper back. Time for a small experiment, then.

Closing his eyes, Iori tried to imagine kissing Harry. Embracing was surprisingly easy, as he reimagined how he tucked Harry against his body, their individual warmth entwining into a single heat. How Harry would turn against him, his unusually colored green eyes shining with affection and acceptance. How Iori would bend his head down, to close the distance between their mouths. How would Harry raise his arms, entwining them around Iori's shoulders, reciprocating the kiss.

Iori's heartbeat elevated with nervousness and anticipation. He swallowed heavily, feeling his body warm up at the idea. He shifted uncomfortably, as he reluctantly opened his eyes, ending his little daydream slash experiment.

Well. He wouldn't be exactly disinterested, that was for certain. He would be more than interested, actually.

His slow smile turned into a dangerous smirk.

* * *

Meanwhile, Harry got an uneasy feeling of being hunted by someone, causing him to shudder and curl even tighter under the blankets.

 _ **/End Flashback/**_

* * *

Iori placed his cup on the table as he leaned forward, "Harry?" He murmured out, mindful of his roommate's cranky glare at his person.

Well, no pain, no gain.

He waited for Harry to concentrate on his tea, and then struck.

"Go out with me."

His little offer prompted a spectacular spit take on Harry's side of the table, with shocked green eyes looking into his own brown ones. Despite the severity of the situation Iori had to force himself to hide a grin. He _so_ enjoyed needling Harry it could be termed a sin, with how enjoyable it was.

When Harry finished hacking out his lungs free of the tea that had managed to sneak down the wrong pipe, the glare returned on his face.

" _What_ did you say?" He barked out, completely unimpressed with Iori's latest loss of marbles.

"You heard me," Iori promptly replied. "I am not accepting your little declaration of my intentions to be made in jest. So." He paused, tilting his head on the side challengingly, the angle just right to expose the black stripe of the collar fastened around his neck.

"I am not gay." Harry protested, frowning. "I've told you yesterday - " Iori's smirked.

"Newsflash to you, neither am I. And," Iori paused for a greater impact, his eyes narrowing predatorily,

"How can you be sure if you haven't tried it?"

* * *

Shell-shocked, Harry stared at his redheaded roommate who decided that this morning was just excellent for the fine art of descending into insanity. He really thought that they were done and over with this particular theme.

"I just am?" Even to his own eyes, the excuse sounded lame. But in all honesty, Harry was oriented to girls, _just because._ Because it was _proper._ Because he still had his little dream of happy little family and a white picket fence someday. Because that was _normal._

Well, normality had fled his life long time ago, so he shouldn't have been surprised that her evil twin was apparently in love with him and thus hounding his footsteps, despite his best efforts to be as normal and boring as possible.

"You don't _sound_ very sure." Iori's purr could be termed as a lethal smugness. "You haven't tried it either, ergo, it's of utmost importance we conduct that particular experiment." He leaned back on his chair, crossing arms over his chest, thus unknowingly accentuating its muscles, what with him wearing a pale blue loose shirt that was only half-buttoned up. Harry's eyes flew to the tempting sight - more like sight for envy - and then back to Iori's face.

Harry had enough. Standing up abruptly, he slapped his hands on the table, while bending forward and glaring at Iori. Silently, he was beginning to regret his impulsive saving people thing that got him into picking up one particular redheaded stray one particular evening. "Look - "He snarled. "I love her, and will continue loving her, even if she married that asshole of my best friend. Do me - and yourself - a favor and stop begging me to accept that rebound date of yours just to prove your nonexistent little thesis to your satisfaction!" He barked out, trying not to feel guilty -

Iori's own chair screeched as he abruptly stood up, his right hand snapping up to hold Harry's jaw and next thing Harry knew, was a pair of warm, dry lips touching his and Iori's scent filling his nose, freezing him on his place, while his heart hammered a crazed rhythm.

The kiss lasted only a moment or two, but to Harry, it was a small eternity.

"I am not doing this because I want to prove something, Harry. " Iori's eyes were scarily intense when he looked into Harry's own shocked orbs. "I want a chance - for both of us." Blinking, there was a smidgen of vulnerability in those brown eyes, despite Iori being taller than Harry by a large margin.

"But I - " Harry tried to reiterate his argument, only for his voice to give out on him and coming out of his throat like a croak.

"Yeah, you are not gay, I know." Iori's voice was similarly affected, dropping into a whisper. "But I like you."

Harry gulped. He felt as if he was on a precipice of about to fall - whether the way down would end well or in misery, it was uncertain. The inhale of the air in that moment was more akin to preparation on going to the execution. Because surely nobody would want just plain Harry, the one with his soul torn and broken into tiny, diamond sharp shards, least of all Iori.

"Alright." He choked out, not even recognizing his own voice. "Alright."

Making a tortured sound of his own, Iori's arms snapped forward to hug him and press him to the sturdy body with wildly hammering heart behind the rib-cage, thundering like a bird of prey searching its way to freedom.

* * *

 _ **/To Be Continued/**_


	10. Chapter 10

_HOW I LOVE YOU_

* * *

 _ **Disclamer:**_ I don't own _Harry Potter_ or _King of Fighters_ , or their characters. In some alternative universe, maybe, but not in this one.

 _ **Shout Out:**_ So there. Another one bites the dust. Tired, but it paid off. _ **Amarante96**_ , yeah, the dorks are together – but the trouble follows them like little puppies. Or kittens. _**RavenWhiteMoi**_ and _**Anon Mugumugu**_ , thank you, happy to give you some fuzzies to share. _**Shi Kami the Traitorous Knight,**_ your foresight is excellent as always, and hope you enjoy this chapter's little surprises too. _**Suzu no Miya**_ , cookie fog dissipated, however that still doesn't mean Iori is in the clear yet. (If he will ever be...) _**Ishipit**_ , thank you, happy to hear that, and enjoy!

 _ **Warning:**_ _**AU-verse, SLASH,**_ Iori being a mean little troll and how's that Harry's life, really?

* * *

His life.

Up until now was certainly not ordinary, but Harry never thought that it would be turned upside down and topside left after he had exited the wizarding world just like that.

He could've never have imagined that he would fold like a wet paper bag to a pair of multi-brown-colored puppy-dog eyes made by a male, and consequently agree to give the said male a chance to… what? _Court_ him? _Date_ him? Nah, both of those were wrong. But _convince_ him… yeah, that sounded about right.

Harry would never say, but inside, he was scared as hell. In fact, he was completely terrified of the consequences of his spontaneous decision. Funny, he could go to his death with his head held high, but when it came to the itty bitty thing called love, he wanted to get the hell outta dodge faster than light. But now Iori depended on him, because Harry promised to give them a chance, and that meant he would have to keep his promise.

Scrunching his nose as he looked at his reflection of the mirror, Harry dragged his hand through his hair in a futile attempt to get it to behave at least a little. He was clothed in a dark blue pullover and black skinny jeans in preparation for their little outing. Despite his grumbles Harry had taken pity on Iori and helped him to clean the scene of the kitchen disaster, even if it took a better part of five hours to get it restored to its previous state. Harry could've used magic just as easily, but there was a certain kind of satisfaction in manual cleaning, and it didn't hurt being entertained by Iori's awkward little fights with the soot stains either. Not when there was such a nice contrast between the red of his hair and pale blue of his shirt with dark gray trousers pulled up on those long legs. Harry wasn't a fashionista by a long shoot, and he still preferred Dudley's old castoffs to relax in instead of his brand new, form-fitting clothes, but he could appreciate the fetching picture Iori made in that little getup of his nonetheless.

After a quick lunch, they agreed to take their little date-not-date outside, with Iori saying that the destination of their outing would be a secret, which was both irritating and exciting for the green-eyed wizard. And – Harry glanced at the wrist clock - it was almost time for them to go, Only, Harry was dithering still because he could.

"Suck it up, Potter, and get your arse in gear. You've faced worse before, so one little date should be a walk in the park for you," He growled at his reflection in the mirror, cringing at the picture he made. Wild, blown-up green eyes, pale skin, clammy hands and really, why was Iori even _thinking_ Harry was a good dating material?

Jerking up and striding out of the room before he could change his mind, Harry abruptly opened the door and then bumped straight into the violet-clad chest of the devil himself.

* * *

Iori was about to call out to Harry to come out of the bedroom, only to be interrupted by the door opening and Harry bumping into him almost at the same time. Harry's hair, he noticed, was even messier than usual, which was kind of amazing, considering that Harry's hear could be probably found in the dictionary beside the definition of 'unruly'. Wide green eyes, three shades darker than usual, looked up to meet his brown ones.

"Hey. Ready to go?" _'Casual'_ Iori reminded himself _. 'Just be casual, no need to make him think you are hunting him.'_ In some respects, Harry reminded him of a baby deer - all awkward and soft and innocent, about to be eaten by some unscrupulous predator, no matter how untrue the image was. If Harry was a baby deer… he was one with very sharp teeth. He saw Harry's throat swallow as his green eyes catalogued just what was Iori wearing.

For once, Iori forewent his iconic neck collar and instead hung around his neck two necklaces - one in the shape of a shield, and another, nestled in the hollow of his throat, was a sign of his clan. His torso was clad in skin-hugging tank top with unbuttoned white long-sleeved shirt framing his upper body. The off-white belt with silver buckle peeked teasingly from under the clothes and holding up the charcoal trousers with the double buckle belts on his lower legs. The ensemble was topped by white leather shoes and burgundy knee-length coat with the smoky gray fur edged collar closed on the front with two delicate looking steel chains. The outfit was one Iori had worn in one of the KoF tournaments, and he liked look of it, so he had kept it after the whole fiasco was over and done with. Judging by Harry's face, it had been a damn good choice.

It made Iori want to preen - he knew he was attractive, he would have to be blind, deaf and dumb not to, and Iori wasn't any of those three things. He never had to rely on the _'sex appeal'_ other guys were talking about when they had their debates how to catch this or that hot chick's attention. Briefly, he thought what would Kusanagi thought of his attire, but just as soon as the thought appeared, he dismissed it, even if it prickled a little. Instead, he smirked. "So you didn't squeeze your tail between your legs yet, good to know." He teased his roommate, making those wide eyes flash with irritation at him. Almost as soon as he spoke those words, Iori wanted to take them back. _'What a great way to make a good impression, Yagami._ _ **Not!**_ _'_ His mind snarked at him.

Harry's shoulders straightened out and his spine stiffened, as if just by effort alone, he could somehow grow to match Iori's ridiculous height in a mere instant. "We'll just have to see _who_ exactly will be coming home with their tail tucked between their legs, Yagami. " The green-eyed wizard growled out, his hands clenching in fists at his sides momentarily, before he dared to slap a palm on the middle of Iori's chest and push him back to get out of the bathroom. "And I promise it to you, it wouldn't be me." One last glare from those enchantingly green orbs and then Harry vanished around the corner into his room, leaving Iori staring after him, a small, amused smirk on his face.

' _So he hasn't lost his fire yet… good to know.'_ Iori thought to himself, relieved. The smirk gentled into a small wistful smile when Iori remembered their kiss.

It had been a gamble, when Iori had kissed Harry – but it was just something he had to do, to touch those snarling lips that denied the attraction between the two of them, if only for a little while. Harry could've decked him one, Iori knew that, but at the moment, it was only one thing Iori could think of to prove Harry that he was serious as a heart attack. Harry's lips underneath his own were warm and chapped with the taste of his strangely made tea dried on their surface, making Iori wish for a more in-depth taste of them, hiding behind Harry's teeth. But he kept the touch respectful and soft, fleeting like a butterfly's wing. And Harry broke, then and there, those green eyes vulnerable and scared and despite Iori having similar feelings, it also made him feel empowered that he was trusted so much, and he vowed that no matter what, he would try and repair the chasm that was left in those eyes by Harry's unrequited love.

Maybe, if everything went well, there would be some more of those kisses tonight. Chuckling softly, he fished out a pair of mocha brown leather gloves to put on his hands.

* * *

Harry felt like everyone knew what they were about to do. It didn't help that Iori not-so-secretly held both his hands and leading him onward, as if Harry were too curious preschooler, used to wandering away from his schoolmate to whenever his fancy would take him. He just knew his face was burning and his knees were shaking as he wobbled another step forward.

"Come on, Harry, it's not that bad." Iori coaxed him to move, causing Harry to send him another scathing look as he wobbled, barely suppressing a yelp and hanging on Iori's hands for his dear life. And Iori had the _gall_ to just stand here to take it, not even a wibble in his equilibrium. That was a sheer _injustice_ , Harry thought darkly, it seriously was.

It was completely undignified. Even more so when he had been forced to go to that disaster of a Yule Ball. In fact, he would've loved to bait Hungarian Horntail – _without_ a broom to fly on - instead of being forced to endure this - _this torture!_

"You know I _hate_ you right now, do you?" He managed to get out from the back of his clenched teeth, but that only made Iori to bark out amused laughter as he smiled at Harry like he was cute little bunny to pet and cuddle, that sorry son of a bitch.

"Of course, Harry." Iori teased him. "Now slow and easy, and straighten up your back, will you?" He gave another gentle tug while he effortlessly skated backwards on the ice rink acting as Harry's support and bait at the same time, grinning all the while at Harry's ruffled appearance.

Harry was bundled in a dark brown jacket with a green and yellow woolen scarf tucked around his neck. His hair was unfortunately hidden under similarly colored woolen cap and he looked like a ruffled little bunny…. with fangs. Admittedly, Iori was a little bit unfair in having choosing ice skating rink as their first date spot, especially when Harry admitted that he had never skated before. It didn't matter that Iori stacked the odds further in his favor what with his natural ability to do sports. Contrarily, Harry was wobbling on the skates, and probably cursing the day he had met Iori quite vehemently in his head. Not that it mattered - what mattered, really, was that Iori had an excuse to hold Harry in a public place.

"You're mean, evil and I don't know why I am doing this with you." Grimacing, Harry half-grumbled, half-snapped back, huffing as he slid forward cautiously and grimacing at the feeling of the scrunching ice underneath the blades of the ice skates. It was just shy of the feeling of clawing with fingernails across the board, only without the screech and with the uncomfortable feeling in his feet to boot. Where was a pissed-off Hungarian Horntail mama when he needed it? Nevertheless, he made another slide/step, and Iori hummed with approval. "That's it, just keep going like that."

"Like _what_ , exactly? I have a feeling I am about to fall apart _right fucking now_ and you are saying to _keep_ _going?"_ His little balking tirade made Iori laugh - not chuckle, but outright laugh, and Harry stared, his cheeks flushing at the enchanting sight of Iori's happy face. "Yeah. Keep going." Iori grinned at him. Making a small half turn, he slid on Harry's left side and sneaked his right arm around Harry's waist. "It's kind of like flying, when you get the hang of it." He explained, a small smile still on his lips.

' _Kind of like flying, huh…'_ Harry paused for a moment, wishing he could fly - not this pale imitation of flying but _fly_ , becoming one with the sky, wind and clouds. His heart gave a sharp pang of pain at the loss of that particular pastime, but maybe… this could be something new.

" _Breathe,_ Harry. Slide. Remember Hermes?" Iori's voice murmured into his left ear, shaking Harry out of his reverie. "What does Hermes have to do with skating?" Harry asked, confused, as he tried to follow Iori's steps. Iori skated on, deftly maneuvering them into avoiding another pair that skated past them in a flurry of movements. "He was a Greek god of messengers, I get that. But I don't think he had anything to do with skating."

Nodding, Iori glanced at Harry, his arm squeezing the smaller youth's waist a little bit tighter before relaxing again. "He didn't, but he is often depicted wearing sandals with winged sandals on his feet." His voice had a calming effect on the young wizard, who relaxed and let his body being guided by Iori across the expanse of iced water in a comfortable rhythm. "Imagine your ice skates like that. Like they have little wings on them, propelling you forward, and helping you fly."

' _Like little brooms, attached to your feet_.' Alright. He could do that. Taking a deep breath, Harry concentrated and then pushed off, just like Iori taught him.

His foothold was still a bit wobbly and he still felt like he could fall at any given moment, but underneath all that uncertainty and discomfort, there was a gleam of something very familiar, making Harry's heart skip and causing green eyes widen behind the glasses. Another step. And then another, to catch that elusive glint of freedom teasing him beneath the skates.

Iori watched, proudly, how with each step/skate, Harry gained a little bit more of the confidence on ice. Sure, he was still awkward, and he still sometimes wobbled on the skates, but Iori steadied him then, distancing himself more and more, until they were connected only by their hands holding to each other.

"Ready?" He called out, making Harry hastily look at him before he once again concentrated on moving. "Ready for what?" Harry replied back distractedly.

"For me to let go of you." Iori's voice was almost conversational in its tone. "Sure." Harry nodded, not even listening to Iori, too engrossed in his newfound freedom, making his redheaded skating companion smirk and suddenly, Iori's hand released his own, and Harry sped forward, alone….

… and about to collide with a group of teenagers with all the speed he had amassed when he was getting the sense of how to move and balance himself.

' _Oh shit!'_ Harry's eyes widened as he comprehended the situation he suddenly found himself in. And what was worse… He didn't know how to stop!

Arms flailing, he did the only thing he could. "Hey! Outta the way, can't stop!" He hollered to the group, while his feet were still working, seemingly independent of his panicked lizard brain screaming to _just stop already!_

The little group he had addressed just turned to him, two boys and a girl and in five seconds, the collision would be imminent. Belatedly, he heard Iori calling him, telling him how to brake, but there was no time and –

Somehow, he managed to shift his weight _just so,_ barely enough to avoid the collision, but not enough to avoid slamming painfully into the fence of the rink, which was going to happen just about no–

-only to be caught by a strong hand wrapping itself around his waist and then, they screeched to a half, and Harry could breathe again.

"Little One. While I admire your persistence in learning how to skate…" The familiar sibilant voice hissed into Harry's neck. "… I would recommend practicing how to _stop_ first."

Harry's shoulders slumped as he exhaled a defeated sigh. He _knew_ that it was too good to last.

Turning around, he looked up and lo and behold, there was a pair of ruby red eyes with slitted irises looking at him from Iori's face once again.

" _YAGAMI!"_ An incensed voice called out, causing Harry to jerk with surprise.

Turning around, Harry saw one of the skaters he had just avoided to collide with, hurriedly approach them. He was clad in black jacket paired with faded blue jeans trousers. The brown ear-length straight hair fluttered around his head, his deep brown eyes flashing dangerously when screeched to a halt a mere step away from Harry and his savior.

'Yagami' straightened his body out as he tilted his head toward the incensed stranger, ruby red eyes calculating as he pushed Harry behind his back, causing the green-eyed wizard to clutch at his shoulder to maintain balance after the abrupt shift of their positions.

"What are you –!? " Harry's peeved question was interrupted by snake's venomous address of Harry's almost-victim.

" _Kusanagi."_

* * *

 _ **/To Be Continued/**_


	11. Chapter 11

_HOW I LOVE YOU_

* * *

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own _Harry Potter_ or _King of Fighters_ or _**Never On Sunday**_ sung by Connie Francis. (Listen to the song on youtube, search for _Bourne &Kraatz Never on Sunday_ for visual presentation.)

 _ **Shout Out:**_ Exhausted. This is my chief emotion after finishing this chapter. I won't ever be a professional skater, so writing in that venue was a bit stressful for me. But it's finished, so I hope you will enjoy it. _ **RavenWhiteMoi**_ , find out four yourself and have fun! _**Amarante96**_ , I too am the poor schmuck who is also frankly terrible on the ice skates. Hope this chapter will surprise you some! _**Suzu no Miya**_ , thanks, Kyo is just going to be traumatized. _**Mortred101**_ , well, ahem. It's Orochi's turn to get on Harry's bad side. _ **Ishipit**_ , hope you will become better with ice skates, and yeah, stopping is a murder. Still, take care at your work, my stories will wait for you anyway. Wishing you luck!

 _ **Warnings:**_ _ **AU-verse, SLASH,**_ Iori taking a temporary hike and Harry finally uses the gift from Yamato-san.

* * *

The tension between his self-acclaimed protector and fuming brown-haired stranger was palpable.

If Harry could, he would've face palmed at the moment. Really, who exactly had he pissed off in his former life to be a butt of cosmic jokes in this one? Maybe there really was a phenomenon known as a HP Effect (patent pending… somewhere), characterized by idiotic situations, unbelievable misfortune and luck taking their respective turns. Really, this was like clockwork – if there was a disaster, somehow, Harry would came up on the top… most of the time, and when he finally thought the situation would pan out, it veered straight in the opposite side.

Harry had given up on resolving this particular paradox long ago, but that didn't mean he was at peace with this unique facet of his life.

Waddling like an adorable duck, he somehow got around Iori's back beside his arm and clutching to it like terrified little girl, all in order to keep his balance. Whoever invented the skates had to be one seriously sadistic bastard who enjoyed people wobbling and tripping over their feet on the evil plane of whiteness called ice.

"Hey." He called to the snake, tugging lightly at his arm. "Let's just go."

"What, you are using innocent bystanders now?" The Kusanagi spat out, his brown eyes narrowing. Harry felt the man's body beside his own stiffen with anger.

His own body tensing in response at the insult Harry glared at the idiot. "At least he stopped me from crashing into the fence, while _you_ , buddy, just stood here, gaping like moron and _not doing anything_. Get lost, _hero_." He spat out, the last words acidic on his tongue, causing the Kusanagi flinch. "Your words of wisdom are not needed or wanted here."

"But - Don't you know that he's dangerous!" Kusanagi spluttered his cheeks red with embarrassment at Harry's jibe at his uselessness in the situation. He made a step forward, only to be stopped by a growl/hiss from the snake's throat.

Harry eyed him flatly. "You don't know _half_ of it. " Mind flashing back to the kitchen disasters, he grumbled out, as he once again tugged at the redhead's arm. "Hey, Iori. Let's go, you still owe me a date."

That effectively stopped the Kusanagi idiot in his tracks. "You-Iori - _date!?_ What the _hell,_ man - "

He was stopped by a rumbling chuckle from Iori. "I was right, Little One. You are very interesting." He saw how those red eyes looked at the smaller green-eyed man affectionately as he helped him to turn around and skate toward the edge of the rink. He stared after the pair, completely freaked out.

 _Iori on a date._ Now he knew the world was ending.

"I didn't know you were such a coward to hide behind your date, Iori." The words flew out of his mouth before he even thought of them.

The pair paused and Iori's previously relaxed shoulders stiffened.

"What do you want, Kusanagi?" The agitated hiss made the brown-haired martial artist smirk.

* * *

"A match." Kyo Kusanagi answered cockily, enjoying that for once, it was him to press his rival into the corner and not the opposite. Truth to be told, he kind of missed Iori's challenges lately. Not that there was anything wrong with more snuggle time with Yuki, it was just…kind of strange not to be hounded by Iori anymore, ever since their resealing of Orochi.

It was kind of a sheer dumb luck they met on the same ice rink, especially when Kyo didn't think that Iori would ever step on ice. It was more of Kyo's domain, what with the ice hockey and all.

So imagine his surprise - no, downright _shock_ \- when he was leisurely skating with Yuki and Shingo, to be called out by the panicked guy wrapped in green and yellow scarf, claiming that he couldn't stop, and just when the collision was almost inevitable, Kyo was preparing for the worst, there was a _tiny_ stroke of luck, sending the guy to veer off from colliding with Yuki by mere millimeters, and then the red blur snapping by Kyo, only to reveal the only and one Yagami Iori snatching the guy by the way and stopping them both cold in the same breath, thus saving the guy in question from the painful close meeting with the fence.

Kyo saw red. It was one thing for Iori to engage him, but to use innocent bystanders was a whole another barrel of fish, so to speak.

So he called out at the bastard, only to be reamed by Iori's 'victim' for his slow reactions and then promptly dismissed in order to prompt Iori into going elsewhere to continue their date.

 _Oh no_. Not on Kyo's watch.

And so, Kyo blurted out the only word that was a surefire guarantee for Iori to focus his attention on him – and if he was lucky, Iori's little date would see Iori for what he was and hightail out while he could still do it.

"Which words out of ' _I am on a date,'_ you don't understand, Kusanagi?" Iori snapped back.

"The words ' _you'_ and _'date'_ ," Kyo promptly answered back, smirking. "But if you are so insistent on proving me wrong, then.." He flexed his fingers, preparing to ignite his famous flames. "Prove it."

The red eyes glared at him, causing his grin to widen. "I will not fight with you on the ice."

"Kyo!" A female voice called out, causing Kyo to look to his side and smile as his girlfriend stopped by him, punching him on the arm, "What is taking you so long, I want to dance!"

He wrapped his hand around her wait kissing her cheek affectionately, and then straightened out, looking into Iori's eyes.

"Compete against us. On ice."

* * *

 _No way_. No way, no way, no how.

That was possibly the worst imaginable combination of sports Harry ever had to participate in. He already had two left feet in dancing, and he was freaking lucky he had been stopped from crashing into the fence by the snake, but there was no way in seven frozen _hells_ he would actually manage to combine the two and get out unscathed.

Oh, he was _so_ using that little gift Yamato-san had given him, as soon as they get home…

His eyebrow twitched as he practiced stopping and balancing his body.

Orochi would get his due, the stupid snake. He didn't know just _why_ Orochi was so obsessed by defeating that Kusanagi idiot, but really, drawing even Harry into his pissing contest was a little too much for the green eyed wizard.

"You know what they say about idiots, Orochi." He growled out at his skating companion when they skated around the perimeter accelerating and decelerating to warm up. "Allow them to fight with you, they will drag you down on their level and beat you with experience." Sharp emerald eyes glared at the bemused spirit entity currently in the front driving seat of Iori's body. "Besides that, this was my and Iori's date. _Not_ yours."

"You would leave me all by my lonesome, Little One?" The snake eyed him, amused, red eyes full of mirth and mock-woe. "How positively _cruel_ of you." He turned around and begun back-skating, careful to be in line with Harry's own speed.

"How _astute_ of you." Harry mocked back, before sighing. "Why did you have to accept his challenge, Orochi? You _knew_ I am an absolute beginner, and you agreed to _ice dancing_ of all things. I have _two left feet_ when dancing is concerned!"

Orochi chuckled, the edges of his eyes crinkling slightly with amusement when Harry made a frustrated face. That dating business seemed to be more entertaining by the minute. "Don't worry about it, just skate to the best of your ability..."

"… and not worry about killing any poor fences on the way." Harry concluded dryly, grimacing at the wobbly stop he had just executed. "Thank you, you are a _veritable_ fountain of wisdom. _However_ did I manage to live without you up until now?"

The hissy, raspy chucked coming out of Iori's throat caused a shudder to sneak up the young wizard's spine.

Well. Here's to hoping he would survive the oncoming humiliation.

* * *

Harry's dark thoughts were proven right when he was watching the dance that Kusanagi fool and his girlfriend executed on the ice rink, seemingly flying all over the frozen expanse of water with an almost insulting ease. Miserably, he wondered just how many casts would he end up in after his own little dance with Orochi.

"Little One. " Harry looked up into those red eyed, blinking. For once, Orochi was serious, as he gazed into Harry's green eyes, offering him his gloved hand as if supplicating to him.

"Harry. Trust me."

Swallowing heavily, Harry nodded, placing his own into that wide, big hand, so different of his own.

" _I trust you."_ The words came out of his mouth, in a shaky whisper causing those red eyes widen with astonishment. Their little moment was interrupted by the announcer beckoning them onto the ice plane to begin their own dance.

* * *

Shakily, Harry exhaled as he placed himself in front of Orochi.

' _Alright. Just like flying.'_ He gulped, swallowing harshly, willing his heart to slow down. ' _And here's to hoping the snake bastard would catch me in time.'_

And then, the song began to pour out of the loudspeakers, momentarily freezing him with a surprise.

Involuntarily, his mouth twitched as he listened to the beat, his body unconsciously moving to it, as he began skating backward, still a little bit awkward, but if he concentrated to the rhythm, it was easier.

He knew this song. He knew it very well and it wasn't an irony…. He looked into those red eyes, smirking with amusement.

A crystal clear, mellow voice floated across the ice rink as he gained speed, Orochi following him seamlessly, catching his hand as and tugging him into a wide turn, Harry's legs automatically sliding, allowing himself to be tugged even closer in a waltz hold, while Orochi gained the speed beginning to cross skate backward, unconsciously prompting his green-eyed partner to follow to him, his red eyes fastened on Harry as he too smirked in response to Harry's amusement.

 _La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la  
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la…_

 _(Oso keeyiampsaxo then vrisko allo lay manee)  
(trellee na me he kanee oso to piraos)_

Giving him a half-hearted scowl, Harry clenched his hands, prompting him to stop. He turned, Orochi's hand finding themselves on his hips, their warm, solid weight sending a shiver up Harry's spine, as he reached with his left hand back and up, to hug Orochi's neck, leaning back for a smidgen. He tilted his head up and to the side in a show of trust, the picture of lovers to anyone who saw them at the moment.

 _Oh, you can kiss me on a Monday a Monday a Monday  
is very very good _

Harry barked out a chuckle, as they began to move forward, Orochi subtly pushing and stabilizing him at the same time, giving him confidence to place his own hands on the top of Orochi's and then slowly prying them off, as if reluctant to be free of them when he made an extra push to get an additional amount of speed to 'escape' Orochi's hold.

 _Or you can kiss me on a Tuesday a Tuesday a Tuesday  
in fact I wish you would _

Orochi 'ran' beside him, a mock-begging expression on his face, before he once again caught Harry in his hold, rising him up as he turned around and then lowered him, Harry's body pliant as a bow in his arms, allowing himself to be dragged along, before he rose again, following Orochi - or was that Orochi following him?

 _Or you can kiss me on a Wednesday a Thursday a Friday  
a Saturday is best _

It was hard to tell as the pair changed the holds with the ease that could be only borne out of long time practice and complete trust. Harry felt his body relax as they skated together in a parallel hold, Orochi's hand supporting him, their bodies falling in rhythm. Harry allowed himself some fun, trying out some more complicated footwork, like twirling in place, sure in the knowledge that if he lost his balance, Orochi would be there to catch him if he were to fall. He gave him fake coy look, followed by a mischievous grin, prompting a chase across the rink, 'allowing' Orochi to catch him once more into a spin -

 _But never never on a Sunday a Sunday a Sunday  
'cause that's my day of rest _

Orochi's comically slumped shoulders elicited some incredulous chuckles out of their audience as Harry turned away from him, pushing away from with a hand on Orochi's chest, in an gesture eerily similar to the one from the morning, only to be 'surprised' by Orochi's hold around his waist behind him once more.

 _Come any day and you'll be my guest_  
 _Any day you say but my day of rest_

The notes of chorus were wide, velvety and welcoming and oh so true to their situation. Shaking his head bemusedly, Harry freed himself of the hold, skating a small step forward before turning around and beginning to skate backwards, his arms wide open, as if they were wings, before he beckoned Orochi to follow him, to catch him into his hold again, causing him to lean back like a rose out of a crystal vase when he was being spun around in a lazy spin before he was reluctantly released and they separated again.

 _Just name a day that you like the best  
Only stay away on my day of rest _

Only for Orochi to catch him by his wrist dragging Harry after him, while executing backward cross-steps to gain the speed. This helped Harry to turn with his back to him, and then, Orochi moved in front of Harry, holding his hand so it looked like it was Harry trying to get free of his hold, allowing Harry to lift his right leg into the air, a picture of lover that was about to leave for some hard-earned rest.

 _Come any day and you'll be my guest_  
 _Any day you say but my day of rest_

Orochi dragged him close, twirling them around and then lifted him up, making him sit down on his leg causing Harry to wrap his arms around his shoulders and their eyes met.

 _La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la  
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la_

Green eyes looked into red ones and Harry stretched his right hand into the air, leaning backward when Orochi spun them around before helping Harry transit into the standing pose, and after gaining some speed, he lifted him up by one leg before setting him down, causing the chase to begin again, Harry feeling as he skated backward and Orochi following him. Finally, Orochi caught him by the waist, and swept him up in the air, turning him around three times, slowly letting him down. Harry reached his hands up and burrowing them in the mass of silky red hair ducking his head down his face that they touched their foreheads while the music quieted down, as is reluctant to leave them alone entwined in each other's embrace.

There was a profound silence, before the cheers exploded.

* * *

His heart was thundering wildly when he was looking into those deep green eyes, feeling their owner's breath tease his lips He had been in shock when he heard those words slipping out the Little One's mouth in sibilant hiss denoting his own language.

" _I trust you."_ Three words that had left him thunderstruck. How long had it been, since he was spoken to, and in the language of serpents, nonetheless?

His Little One was special, indeed. Lips quirking up affectionately, he nuzzled his neck, even covered with the scarf as he hugged him, immersing himself in Harry's scent and warmth.

* * *

Kusanagi Kyo stared.

He had thought that he had this impromptu little competition in the bag. He had been ice dancing with Yuki as a hobby for three years. Iori, to his knowledge, never had, and his ice dancing partner was a newbie that was ice firstie, so to speak.

The song that had been randomly chosen for the pair was also a bit difficult of an arrangement to ice dance to, what with its rhythm, changing from fast to slow from one breath to another.

But somehow, the duo made it work. The two were two planets orbiting around each other… but what creeped Kyo out the most was Iori's openness to Harry when they were dancing. Iori was all barks, bites and sharp edges, rude as rude can be.

However, this new version of Iori was warm, protective and horror of all horrors, cuddly! _Cuddly!_ Kyo felt ice shivers travel up his spine at that particular anathema. Iori was never, _ever_ cuddly! He was the type to brutally murder kittens and puppies – well, Kyo didn't have any proof for this one, but he _was!_ As an opponent, Iori was a nightmare and when there were those rare occasions the two had to team up, in the aftermath, Kyo was both absurdly grateful and immensely irritated that Iori had been on his side.

" _Awww._ Aren't they _soo cuuute_." Turning to her, Kyo looked at his girlfriend with horror. She had flushed cheeks and her hands were clutched to his chest, her gaze dreamy and sparkling when she was looking at the pair with envy.

"Kyo-chan… Why aren't you like that with me?" Big accusing eyes looked at the Kusanagi heir as she pouted, causing Kyo to backpedal slowly.

"Er… Yuki – "He stammered, waving helplessly in front of him, hoping to stave off the big guns. No luck on that front, the big weapons came out anyway. Shimmering, wet and hurt brown orbs that made Kyo feel like heel for causing her hurt. Even if he hadn't done anything to deserve it this time. Really!

He swallowed as his shoulder slumped with defeat.

Why the fuck did Iori have to change into such a Casanova? Most importantly, _when_ did that happen?

* * *

Harry sighed with relief when they came back to their apartment. His legs were still shaking with shock when they finished their little challenge. Thanks to Orochi, he had made it out whole, and as a bonus, that Kusanagi creep also got his dues, what with him and Orochi winning their impromptu little pissing contest. Still, Harry inwardly swore that if he ever saw that Kusanagi idiot again, he would have _words_ with him.

 _"Finally,"_ He breathed out, slumping as he changed his shoes for his divinely comfortable slippers, his jacket, scarf and cap already off and on the hook in the wardrobe.

Ice skate shoes were a murder on his feet. Why would anyone spend hour upon hours in them and freezing their butts off on the treacherously slippery cold surface known as ice, Harry would never understand.

Suddenly, he was turned around and kissed, a hot mouth on his cooled down lips, with slick tongue sneaking past his teeth and claiming Harry's orifice for its own, prompting his own tongue to play with Orochi's.

Twitching, Harry reached around, fingers scrabbling to the nearby commode and snatching the now much needed item off of it.

 _THWAP._

The thick sound of _harissen_ hitting the redhead's skull echoed in the antechamber.

"Oww. Why did you do _that_ for!?" Iori's indignant voice overlapped with Orochi's one in a confused hurt.

"Because – "Harry began coldly, his cheeks flushed and breathing heavily after the hot kiss he had received still in the redheaded fighter's hold, with a ghost apparition now holding him on his other side. Both of the taller men were holding their heads where they had been smacked by _harissen_ and giving him bewildered looks – "You two were _both_ idiots and you don't deserve any prizes after the stunt you've pulled on me!"

* * *

 _ **/To Be Continued/**_


	12. Chapter 12

_HOW I LOVE YOU_

* * *

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own _Harry Potter_ or _King of Fighters_. Period.

 _ **Shout Out:**_ Twelfth chapter. Wow. Anyway, once again, thanks for your reviews, all of you! _**anthea tronchard step**_ – you flatter me, and I hope I motivated you some to keep writing your own story! _ **RavenWhiteMoi**_ , _**demonix19**_ , agree with you, but the poor dear is frazzled... you will see for yourself. _**Suzu no Miya**_ , you will just have to wait and see, this time both Iori and Orochi got into hot water… punishment pending. _**She is the Bird of Hermes**_ , happy to have you back along the ride, and you made me laugh aloud with the mention of possible scandal. Iori's reputation as an unfeeling bastard will be going down the ditch! Well, this one is for you, hope you enjoy it.

 _ **Warnings:**_ _**AU-verse, SLASH,**_ Harry-torture. And the kitten finally got a name!

* * *

Iori frowned as he glared at Harry.

"I didn't pull any – " He began, only to hear a double voice echo his words at the same time.

He had seen everything that happened since Orochi forcefully switched with him when Harry called out that he couldn't stop in time. It was a supremely uncomfortable feeling, being tied up in his own body, which was moving without his volition. He heard Orochi's words to Harry, and inwardly he tensed when the serpent whispered to his Harry to trust him.

The same serpent which cursed his days in agony of suffering until he had managed to seal it down with Kusanagi's help. The same serpent who had an unhealthy amount of interest in Harry because of his strange circumstances of owning an eternal fire, and Iori still didn't know what it was.

But not only that, they just _had_ to meet that thrice cursed Kusanagi and accept the match. Well, technically it was Orochi who had accepted on the behalf of the both of them, but if Iori were there, he would've walked away – Nah. He was not kidding anyone. He would've done the same as Orochi, no ifs, ands and buts about it.

Orochi was an amazing skater, and Iori envied him the ability to freely touch and interact with Harry, even if it lasted only a small amount of time.

And now, when he heard his voice, he bristled as his eyes snapped from Harry up and looking into those slitted red eyes, Harry's taste still lingering on his tongue, tingling on his tongue and teasing him to sample another one.

* * *

Harry bristled. He was between the two behemoths - they had to be behemoths, what with their damned tall forms crowding him both front and back and _gee,_ wasn't that just fantastic. Really he should just faint now by the sheer gratitude to whomever gifted him with double the trouble.

He began to struggle out of their holds, only to yelp when the said holds only strengthened, stilling his body in place.

He had had _enough._

Growling slightly, he jabbed his elbow back in what he supposed was Orochi's stomach, and simultaneously stomped on Iori's left foot. "Let go of me already, you pair of lunkheads!" He took and advantage to their surprise to struggle out of their holds and then, turned back to them.

" _Lunkheads?_ I assure you that I, Yamata no Orochi, am no such thing." The white-haired male scoffed as he crossed his hands on his chest, letting himself lift off the floor and hover in the air.

For a moment, Harry was speechless. This new apparition was slightly see-through, with dark red, slitted eyes and semi-long messy white hair framing his face. The dark blue tattoo expanded itself from his chest in some parody picture of a sun with eight pokes stretching from the oval painted on his chest over the his upper body in thick slices of ink with one such line crossing to the middle of his muscled stomach and forking there, as if to enhance the navel set among the chiseled muscles like some kind of a priceless, yet vastly underrated jewel. The tattoos repeated themselves in the shale of bands on Orochi's upper and lower arms, with thick black armbands covering his lower arm from the wrists and just an inch from the tattoo resting under the elbow joint. He was clad only in white trousers hold up with black belt with simple steel buckle, and his feet were bare.

Short and sweet version, Harry now had a floating gigolo staring at him expectantly; the man's knowing smirk in a direct counterpart with Iori's scowl the longer Harry was perusing his frame for his viewing pleasure. "I am pleased my form is likable to you, Little One," He purred our, causing Iori to growl and swipe at him, only for his hand to go through his form like it wasn't even there, much to the Yagami's heir fury.

" _ **Iori!"**_ Harry's sharp voice stopped the fighter from trying to flambé the floating annoyance on the spot. "And _you,_ buddy! Harry pointed at him with the _harrissen_ he was still holding in his right hand – "Explain it to me just _why_ did you feel you had any right to kiss me!"

Blinking, Orochi tilted his head. "Because you are mine, Little One."

"Do you want to _die?"_ Incensed, Iori growled at him, fingers twitching as he slid into the stance, ready, willing and able to slice the annoying pest into ribbons, his face a demonic cast when he ignited his flames.

Orochi chuckled. "Of course not, especially not now when I found my Little One. But it appears that you do…. And I will grant your wish!"

Harry had had enough.

"Let me know when you two finish your pissing contest, I am going to sleep!"

He marched out of the anteroom and toward his bedroom, leaving behind two betrayed looking fighters, their will to trump each other mysteriously extinguished now when Harry was not present to witness the glorious heaps of violence they were all too willing and able to dish on each other.

* * *

There hadn't passed half an hour since he had done his evening ablutions and snuck between the covers, exhausted and frazzled from the happenings of the day. He just knew he would be paying for his little bout of exercise tomorrow and hoped he still had some pain relief potion left somewhere. And there was also that little problem of him finishing the song for Iori. He had something cobbled together already, but with the week's happenings as they were, he hadn't had the time to check and improve on them. Hopefully, this would also deter the two knuckleheads he had left in the anteroom from bothering him too much, but Harry wouldn't hold his breath over this particular issue.

He finally managed to box in the pillow in a comfortable shape, letting his aching body relax as he rolled on the side, when the door to his room silently slid open. Harry stilled, but kept on breathing normally.

Then, the mattress dipped under the weight of someone way heavier than him.

"Harry?" Iori's tentative voice whispered in the night air. Harry didn't reply, didn't even open his eyes.

Taking the silence as a tacit approval, Iori crawled onto the bed, and wiggled himself under the blankets. A moment later, Harry felt the all too warm body get closer to his own, and muscular left arm wound itself around Harry's waist, thus successfully preventing any means of escape on the green-eyed wizard's side. Harry tried not to tense at the touch, but exhaling a little too loud through his nose anyway.

' _Delegated to a teddy bear.'_ He thought to himself sourly. _'What next?'_

"I'm sorry." Iori whispered to him. "I didn't mean four our date to end on such a miserable note."

' _What, you mean in my bed?_ ' Harry's snide thought was cut abruptly as Iori's nose nuzzled in the messy dark locks adorning it and inhaling their scent.

"I am sorry to cause you so much trouble. " Iori's whisper was downtrodden. "I am trying, I really do, but it seems that everything I do comes out wrong or ends in disaster." Harry heard iori's swallow, and his heart clenched at listening to that miserable voice.

"I know that you love her still, and it's hard to accept that wen I know we could have something good together. And… Thank you for defending me from Ky - Kusanagi. It's hard to see him with his girlfriend. I've wished that he could've looked at me like he does at her, but he isn't into men, least of all me."

' _So I am delegated to a second choice once more.'_ Harry's heart clenched painfully in his chest. _'And why does that thought hurt so much?'_ Instead, he curled into a small ball, hoping that this new pose would act like a shield from the pain nestling in his heart.

"But now, I want you."

' _Because I am just your song writer. No need to mince words, Yagami._ ' Harry thought to himself bitterly. Even now, he was only wanted for what he could offer, and not for himself. Was there really a curse hanging upon him, to be forever alone?

"I want you." Iori repeated, as if lost for words. "I want _you._ Not as a replacement for Kusangi. But because you are _you._ I've watched you ice dance through Orochi's eyes, you know. How you defended me - us - and how you went with the crazy scheme he had cooked up despite your misgivings. I don't know what you told him, but you made him happy." His chest vibrated with the words he had spoken, and Harry felt like he was touching a giant, yet very fragile hummingbird he could break with a single careless touch of his fingertip as his back pressed further against Iori's chest.

"And I am scared I will lose you to him." Harry's heart just broke and melted at once when he heard those simple, frank words.

That giant, fierce, foul-mouthed red-haired fighter with a terrible reputation and miserable life was scared. Scared to lose Harry to his personal demon who had haunted him his entire life. The same demon – _spirit_ entity, which was, for some reason, interested in Harry.

Harry felt both proud and humbled at once. He wanted to turn around and hug Iori and then cling to him for dear life, just to assure him that he wouldn't be going anywhere because –

Harry paused.

Because what?

He still loved Hermione, didn't he?

And he agreed to give Iori a chance.

But was that chance enough for him to like – no, not like, but _love_ Iori? Iori had already been burned once, however unintentionally it had been. And tonight, Harry himself had stated he was on a date with Iori, with Orochi in Iori's skin reiterating the statement to Kusanagi.

Even if it had been only for one day, he had dated Iori. Despite his misgivings about the ice skating, Harry had to admit, even if only to himself, he had fun. Iori had been patient and supportive, and Harry felt like himself with him, even if he bitched and moaned half the time when they were on ice.

"And… I was the one to kiss you." Iori's sheepish admission caused Harry's eyes to snap open and his jaw drop.

' _That was_ _ **you!?'**_ He mentally screamed at the red haired idiot that clung to him like human-shaped barnacle. Harry was sorely tempted to finish the farce of sleeping right there and then, but he forced himself to calm down and listen on.

"I couldn't help myself. You were amazing." Harry could feel Iori smiling in his hair and he blushed. Blushed hot enough he feared that he would be discovered in his little not-eavesdropping on Iori's musings. "Apparently, Orochi couldn't either." Iori's voice became sour, and Harry's already wide eyes expanded to what felt like saucer proportions.

Did that count as kissing a ghost?

But at least it was more pleasant when that one time after the battle when Myrtle smooched one to him. Harry involuntarily shuddered with the memory. Wet, cold and slimy and about as pleasant as sticking wet fingers into live electric socket. As far as ghost-kissing went, Orochi was way ahead the Hogwarts' own wailing ghost.

Or it may be only his own inexperience talking, but kisses with girls were always disastrous, in one way or another.

 _Well._ Whatever it was, it was a damn good kiss, even if Harry had been ambushed into it. Maybe he would even go for the repeat performance, only without ghostly interruptions and ambushes. Or... Harry smirked to himself. Maybe this would be a good chance to ambush Iori back, because payback was a bitch like that, and Harry was never one to owe anyone anything.

Smiling, he allowed himself to drift into sleep, enjoying the heat Iori's body was practically radiating against his own cooler one.

That was definitely a plan he could get behind, yes, it was.

* * *

Iori sighed. He felt marginally better since he had eased his conscience of the burden via confessing his little 'sins' to his sleeping boyfriend. Hopefully boyfriend still, because that first date was a complete and utter disaster. And it had begun so well, too.

Humming under his breath, Harry turned around and nuzzled into his chest, making Iori's heart skip with the movement. Had he been discovered?

Thankfully, the messy-haired man settled down relatively quickly, only snuffling a few times as if to take in Iori's scent for memory purposes, like a little puppy. Iori had to smile at the unconsciously cute gesture, and his chest warmed even further when one of Harry's hands grabbed the front of his sleeveless pajamas into a firm grip, as to reassure its owner that Iori would be going nowhere.

Not that Iori had any inclination to do so - he was content right where he was.

Maybe… the Disaster Date wasn't such a disaster, after all.

* * *

Next morning, Harry found himself being sandwiched between both Iori and Orochi… somehow. He didn't know how Orochi managed to make his body seem and function like human one, but he had, and the end result was Harry-sandwich with one redhead and one white head, both of them possessively clinging on him and preventing him to get out of the tangle to empty his bladder in the toilet.

"Meow."

Harry felt something light jump on his bed and opened his eyes.

And there it was, his kitten.

"Hey, you." He called to her affectionately. "How was your night?"

The kitten padded up to him and nuzzled his nose, ending with a small lick, prompting a small giggle out of Harry. "Aww. You're so cute." He cooed, wising that he would have his hands free to pet her. The kitten purred and nuzzled his chin, before turning and beginning to march away.

"Hey, darling. Could you help me get out of their holds?" He whispered to her, hoping that she would deign to understand and somehow wake up his bed-mates. Instead, he got a disinterested gaze from those unique golden green eyes, and then the little devil padded away from his face, somehow settling in the spot just above his bladder, even kneading it for a good measure, causing Harry to suppress a despairing moan at the zings of pain bursting through his body from the tortured bladder into his brain at the seemingly innocent movement caused by gentle paws.

Finally, the chosen spot was tender enough for the kitten's senses, and the evil creature settled down, much to Harry's dismay. At the rate this was going he would pop a hose and water the bed, a terrible fate he would rather avoid.

But what he did instead was to slump down on the bed, resigned to being chained by the three interlopers until further notice.

" _Et tu_ , Mischief?" He asked, defeated.

The kitten, now officially named Mischief, only curled more tightly into herself and purred louder. Despairing, Harry closed his eyes.

Cats were seriously evil creatures and he now regretted having accepted Iori's 'gift of goodwill' very sincerely.

On his sides, there were two pairs of eyes looking at him, gleaming with amusement at his plight.

For that, the two spectators thought, the little kitten would be handsomely rewarded. Very, very handsomely. With that thought in their heads, both Orochi and Iori closed their eyes to catch one last snooze before the day would officially begin.

And if both Iori and Orochi cuddled and pampered the kitten a little more than usual, well, then it was their own little secret.

* * *

 _ **/To Be Continued/**_


	13. Chapter 13

_HOW I LOVE YOU_

* * *

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't won _Harry Potter_ or _King of Fighters_.

 _ **Shout Out:**_ Man, I am wiped. Sorry for the late update, was a crazy day here, and I couldn't concentrate much on writing. Hope you will enjoy this little installment even with the delay. _**Amarante96**_ , let's see what I cooked up in that chapter. Not telling more, no siree! _**Yoshishisha**_ , you know what, I also had some typos with Orochimaru. Scary experience. Still have to explain that tidbit with Orochi appearing, but this will be in the next chapter. _**She is the Bird of Hermes**_ – scandal served! Would love to read what you think, and of course, if you will recognize who is who! _**Tilliraen**_ , hmm, you will just have to read and see for yourself. _**Suzu no Miya**_ , thank you! Mischief is indeed one evil little kitten. Fear her powers in this chapter!

 _ **Warnings:**_ _**AU-verse, SLASH,**_ boys being boys, liberal use of hashtags. _**#wipedout**_

* * *

The breakfast was an interesting affair. Harry had his usual fare of eggs and toast with tea, while both Orochi and Iori glared at each other over the last strip of fried bacon. Orochi preferred green tea without any additions, whole Iori had almost nauseatingly strong cup of coffee on his side.

Thankfully Harry persuaded - more like glared down – the snake spirit into wearing one of Iori's spare T-shirts, and even then, there were still those distracting tattoo bands on the display. Orochi was clad in his usual white trousers and simple black T-shirt with silver edges on the sleeves. Iori was clad in loose dark blue track pants with gray sleeveless shirt and dark blue shirt. Privately, Harry wondered just why was Iori seemingly obsessed with wearing shirts. He wore them either closed of open - not that it mattered, both ways looked good at him, but seriously, he had to have some kind of fetish for that piece of clothing. His collar also made a reappearance and mentally, Harry made a note to ask Iori just why was he wearing it again.

"This bacon is mine." Orochi glared at the stubborn redhead as he tugged the strip to himself by the chopsticks, only for Iori to stubbornly hold it back by his own set, red and brown eyes glaring at each other, prompting Harry to quietly sigh with desperation.

"You wish. Go ahead and burn!" Iori hissed back at him, the usual mix of brown In his eyes being slowly overtaken with red.

Rolling his eyes, Harry sipped his tea as he witnessed to their childish spat. It wasn't as if they didn't have enough of bacon to go around, but _noo_ , the two lunkheads in question just had to squabble around.

"Hey, you two. " He spoke up, as he moved the cup away from his lips, waiting for the two to look at him. Two pairs of expectant eyes looked at him, and if Harry was that kind of person, he would have blushed at the scene. Both Iori and Orochi were exotic enough to make any woman swoon with their looks alone. And Harry was the lucky recipient of their advances. Or at least Iori's advances, he still didn't know what Orochi's angle in all that mess was.

"Yes, Little One?" Orochi gave him a small smile, while Iori just glared at him. Harry sighed. "Kiss and make up already, will you?" He deadpanned, causing Iori to splutter, and Orochi's own eyes widen with surprise.

"Harry, you - !" Iori snapped, apparently lost for words, and his hold on the bacon slackened. Orochi saw the chance and snatched the bacon to himself, grinning with triumph as Iori yelped with surprise –

"Meow."

Only to be confronted with golden green kitty eyes staring at him from his right elbow."

Orochi blinked. The creature was sitting there, calm as it pleased, and stared at him.

"This is my bacon. Find your own." He told to the kitten, lifting his hard-earned loot to his lips, already salivating at the thought of the divine taste melting on his tongue.

"Meooow."

The kitten meowed again, and Orochi stopped.

Was it just him, or were those eyes significantly bigger than before?

His right eyebrow twitched. On one side, there was bacon goodness. On the other side, there was a kitten looking at him with its pitifully big eyes, as if the poor thing had been starved for heavens knew how long.

He opened his mouth, moved the chopsticks again, and he could almost taste the crisped greasy deliciousness that was fried bacon.

" _Nyaooooowww…"_ The kitten whimpered, its eyes folding down, the picture of pathetic…

' _Don't look at its eyes. Don't look – '_ Orochi swallowed, his hand trembling.

And then, the purr. Of course, it made Orochi look at the culprit. Which, in retrospect, was a big mistake, because…

Orochi's resolve crumbled like house made from cards.

"Here you go." He grunted as he offered the coveted last fried bacon slice to the pathetic furball reluctantly.

The furball in question daintily nibbled at it, before chomping down and swallowing it. When it finished, it smoothly turned away from Orochi and went to Iori, climbing up his right arm to settle on his shoulder.

Orochi felt oddly betrayed at its nonchalant approach.

"You little traitor." He grumbled at the kitten, and then, Harry giggled at his misfortune. Reluctantly, Orochi felt his own lips twitch up in amusement. Even Iori made an odd cough or two, trying to hide his laughter.

"You two are a terrible team." Iori addressed Harry as he fondly tickled the kitten underneath her chin.

"Indeed." Harry mock-sniffled. "Fear our awesome powers of persuasion." He shook his head, thoroughly entertained. Even Orochi had been bent to Mischief's whims, which Harry had thought it would've been impossible.

"Foiled by a cat." Iori grinned, not minding the dark look Orochi had sent to him for his remark. "That's even worse than you being defeated by Kusanagi."

Orochi hissed at the insult. Harry choked on his tea as he slammed the cup on the table as he began cough. Were the two of them somehow conspiring to make Harry inhale his daily dose of tea or something? Because every time - _every damn time_ \- either of them did something that resulted in Harry hacking up his damn lungs.

" _Orochi!_ That was uncalled for!" He coughed out in between his hacks, waving Iori away as he stood up, offering to pat his back to help to dislodge the annoying liquid.

Red eyes blinked at him with confusion, before they brightened.

"Oh, _that_." Orochi breathed out, his focus now switching from Iori to Harry. "You understood me?"

"Of course I understood you, you idiot!" Harry snapped out. "And may I remind you that calling Iori's ancestry and sex prowess in question is not exactly the way to get it back at him when he doesn't understand what exactly are you talking about!" Inhaling, he held his breath for a moment before he exhaled slowly.

"How, Little One? You are not one of mine, yet you are blessed with both speaking and understanding the tongue." Orochi purred out as he settled the chopsticks on the table, bending forward in the interest.

"A curse from my enemy." Harry replied shortly. "It killed both my parents, but for some reason, it couldn't kill me, but left me with the scar and the knowledge of the language." Green eyes looked at Orochi, now competely serious.

"Orochi. Why do you have such a deep interest in me? I am human, one of the species you claim to hate because they are destroying the planet. It doesn't make sense."

Orochi's red eyes blinked slowly as he tipped his head on the side, a snake pondering how to snare its prey.

"You are not one of them, Little One. You are different. " He hummed, causing Iori to bristle.

"You were cursed and gifted with the eternal fire." Harry stared. 'Eternal fire? Well, that's new." His brain blitzed through his memories to find the eternal fire, but he came up with nothing.

"But I am not. Not like Iori. And if I had been gifted with such flame, I would've remembered it."

Orochi's soft laugh was not very reassuring. "Ah, but you cannot fool me, Little One. I don't know when, why or how, but you meet one of the servants of Suzaku. I could never forget that scent. And then, there's the little king's poison within your veins. Dare you to say you not have knowledge of him, either?"

* * *

Iori saw Harry jerk and then blanch. Green eyes, usually so very assertive, were now wide with fear and apprehension. His hands clenched in fists, as he readied himself to clock the snake out of consciousness. Iori detested violence and murder, but if that damned serpent dared to do anything to Harry –

"Because of that, I want to be your familiar." Standing up Orochi walked around the small table, and then kneeling in front of the befuddled Harry.

"You are saying what now?" His voice was close to the hiss too; apparently some of Orochi's habits ribbed off on him.

Red eyes glanced at him dismissively. "It's none of your business, Yagami. If anything, it's between him and me alone."

Green eyes darted to him, full of panic and despair, mixed with a healthy dose of confusion, before Harry apparently got a hold of his nerves.

"You are _Yamata no Orochi_ , the legendary eight-headed serpent, and you've lived for more than 1800 years. My lifespan is but a blink of the eye in comparison with yours. Sixty years, and I will be dead." Iori felt a cold shudder skitter up his spine at Harry's emotionless voice.

Orochi snorted. Iori would never have thought that such a being could even snort, but Oorchi apparently found it an appropriate reaction to Harry's little diatribe.

"Who are you trying to fool, Little One? You know just as well as I that the ones like you can live up to hundred and more years. And with the eternal fire coursing your veins, you are bound to live even longer."

* * *

Harry felt his heart just about stop at the snake spirit's proclamation.

'… _you are bound to live even longer.'_

Was that his punishment for wanting to go back to her? Because he wanted to be selfish and live with her?

He had known that wizards had absurdly long lifespans, especially the ones who were powerful. Dumbledore had been about 116 years old when he had been killed by Snape. Voldemort, if he hadn't chased after Harry, would have lived at least another century, if not more. And Harry - Harry swallowed as he thought of implications. He and Voldemort, Dumbledore had said, were to be equals. Equally powerful. Harry hadn't thought so, because he didn't have the knowledge of deep, dark, esoteric and light like Voldemort had - the Dark Lord was one of the most knowledgeable wizard of his age, and if he hadn't been so focused on cancelling that thrice cursed prophecy, he would have been guaranteed a long and prosperous, if not happy life. But the prophecy stared them as equals, whatever that meant, and in Harry's humble opinion, it had been a pure dumb luck he had won their last fight.

But now, when Orochi presented him the very real possibility - it was certainty - that he was to outlive everyone he had known because of that ' _eternal flame_ ', Harry felt despair.

The yawning chasm that Iori began to close with his presence in his life began to rip open anew, gaping ever further and more threatening than even before.

"… I never asked for this." It came out of his mouth as a whisper, almost unconsciously so. Orochi was quiet.

"Harry – " Iori stood up and reached for him, but Harry swatted his hand away, green eyes distant and hollow.

"I never asked for it," Harry's voice was stronger, and angrier. "All I ever wanted was to be normal! When I didn't get that, because of a stupid prophecy, I wished to live my life with her. When I was asked to die, I went to my death with a _smile_ on my face, knowing that at least she would be _safe!_ I gave _everything_ , to return and off the bastard who had killed my parents to keep her safe! I wanted to ask her to be my wife and - and she chose my idiotic best friend instead! And _now_ \- " He pinned his glare at Orochi – "You are telling me that everything I've done is essentially _worthless_ , because of that _'eternal flame'_ within me, which would keep me living longer, that I would see the ones I hold dear die and I won't be able to follow them for _a long time coming!"_ His last words were yelled out as he jumped out of his chair, practically yelling them into Orochi's face, green eyes now burning with fury.

* * *

Iori stared.

Harry had _died._ A large part of him wanted to shrivel up and die at that revelation, even more so, when Harry proclaimed it was all for her. Iori was intimately close with death – both in training and the KoF tournaments – but to go to his own death just because he wanted to keep those close to him safe, was a line that even he hadn't crossed.

Yet Harry had, and suddenly, the verses on that crumpled piece of paper became horrifyingly, crystal clear.

He heard Harry's voice break at his last words, even with all the fury contained within them. The green eyes that had been burning with rage, and shining with despair, but the tears didn't come. It was as if Harry had forgot how to cry.

"Why would you chose me, Orochi? Why would you torture me with even longer lifespan?"

* * *

For once, Orochi was silent. He couldn't claim he knew what Harry had been talking about - the loss of such magnitude was alien to him. He was a spirit entity, the one devoted to Gaia, her self-proclaimed protector. She was the one to fill his thoughts with her splendor, and he loathed the humans scarring her so horribly, even irreparably so with each passing year, decade, century and millennium.

There were some human beings he was fond of, but he wasn't close to them. He was their deity, their protector, and they were his living supplicants, mere ants in their lifespans comparing to his own one.

Harry, though, was different. He had been both cursed and blessed, cynical and yet innocent. The dichotomy intrigued Orochi, even more so when he felt Iori's emotions concerning the green-eyed man, the warmth, affection and ironically, fear that Harry would abandon him like anyone else.

It wasn't love – not yet, but it was close to it, what with both of them skirting at its edges, both afraid to step over them, to make that last, irrevocable move in their relationship.

' _I trust you.'_

Orochi blinked at the memory.

Nobody has said that to him, he had been either worshipped or feared and loathed for his powers. Even his most devoted ones hadn't treated him so familiarly and with such warmth. It made his heart both warm and hurt for some reason, as if it was being slowly melted out of its iced prison where it stayed for so very, very long.

"I don't want to lose you. You make me warm. You are my Little One."

He was at loss at how else could he explain that feeling to his Little One.

He didn't want to lose him, not now, when he finally found him.

Once upon a time, he had saved a _miko_ from the demons trying to eat her. He had stayed with her until her wounds were healed and taken care of her. She was like a songbird, with clear, lilting voice, telling him stories of good and bad that helped them to weather the boredom of the long winter months. But when the spring came, she had to continue her pilgrimage.

" _Orochi-sama, do you believe that there is a person for anyone?"_ The _miko_ had once asked him, her blue eyes twinkling in the gentle evening light.

He did not.

But when she departed, she gave him one of her mysterious little smiles, like the ones when she gave him a particularly witty riddle to solve, and said that there was someone for him.

Orochi scoffed. It was impossible. He was already one of the strongest beings alive, and to think there existed a being that would match him, that thought was just too ridiculous to contemplate.

Her merry laughter tinkled across the air.

" _Mou! Orochi-sama, you will see that for yourself_." She poked his nose, causing his eyes to cross momentarily as he tried to follow the fingertip. _"They will have green eyes…"_ She became serious. _"And very broken heart."_

Orochi had forgotten her words, thinking them just an empty babble of an overly optimistic female, obsessed with romance.

But looking at Harry now, he remembered them so acutely as she were in the room and spoke them just this very moment.

" _They will have green eyes…and very broken heart."_

* * *

Harry found himself in a hug. Instead of screaming back at him, of mocking his fears and anger, Orochi stood up and hugged him, like he was something so dear, so very precious, and wholly irreplaceable.

"It was not my intention to cause you pain, Little One." Harry barely heard the whisper in his ears as he clawed the shirt in his hands, clutching it in his fists, as he trembled. "But you became dear to me. I don't want to lose you." Harry looked up at the red eyes, his sight blurring a little. He swallowed the pain choking his throat down, attempting to release his voice.

"Why would you want to bond yourself to me, Orochi?"

"Because this is the only way for me not to lose you." Orochi whispered, closing his eyes as if expecting Harry to explode once again.

Already, Harry was shaking his head and opening his mouth to deny him.

"Would you leave me behind, too?" Iori's voice was raw, causing Harry to whip his head around to look at the redheaded fighter.

And in the same moment, Harry wished he never looked at him. Iori's eyes were always the most expressive part of him - even at a glance, Harry had always known where he stood with Iori. But to see such a raw hurt in those eyes…

"I – " He tried to answer, but his throat was parched and somehow tangled into some live version of Gordian knot.

"Do you really feel like that? About me?" Iori pressed on as he stood up, coming closer to the duo, and Harry wanted to shrink.

His shoulders slumped, as he finally gave up.

"What do you want me to say, Iori?" He instead asked back, feeling so incredibly empty and dull. "That I am over her? That I don't hurt anymore? When I came here, I had hoped to have a new beginning. Something for myself. And those two weeks have given me that."He flashed a feeble smile at Iori, which died a quick death. "I can't say I don't feel something for you, because I do. And that scares me to death. I am scared that one day, you will find someone better than me and leave me in the dust, like she did. I am scared to be used and then broken worse than I already am. I am scared, because I know that one day, you will die and leave me behind."

Iori glared. "And that, by your logic, would be enough to just let what we have slip through your fingers?" He snapped out, incensed, as he came closer to the tired wizard, who just glared at him.

Harry was silent.

It wasn't, he knew that much. He didn't wish that it would be.

"Harry. Do you _want_ to be with me?" Iori glanced at Orochi, who loosened his hold on the green-eyed man. "Do you want to be with us?" Orochi's head snapped up, red eyes staring at the Yagami heir incredulously.

Similarly, Harry's eyes blinked with confusion before they widened with surprise.

"What are you saying, Iori?" Harry became agitated, glaring at the idiot.

"I am saying that I want to be with you. If you would have me." Iori glared back, now in Harry's personal bubble, forcing Harry to look up at him. "I can't say that I know what the future will bring. But what I do know is that I'd rather have you for a short time and be happy, than live without you and wondering about what ifs." His gaze softened a little, reminding Harry of strawberries covered with chocolate. "I am scared, too. But if we would are together, I think that we would be less afraid."

Harry just had to chuckle at the wording. "And Orochi?" He looked between the two of them, amused.

Orochi smirked. "I don't mind. You are my Little One." He became serious. "If he hurts you, I will hurt him."

"Agreed." Iori smirked back, giving him a sharp nod.

"And..." Orochi fidgeted. "When you two mate, keep it away from me, okay?"

It was Iori's turn to blush an atomic red, while Harry began to laugh "Then don't perv on the two of us, you stupid snake!" He snapped back, completely and utterly mortified.

Harry laughed until he cried, hugging both of them.

And if he kissed them on their lips, enjoying their startled blushes he got in return, then all the better.

Mischief jumped down from the table, glancing at her strange new family before turning around and searching for a spot to nap. After all, it was a hard work to keep all of them in line. Yawning, she slipped out of the kitchen and went into the bathroom. There was a pile of freshly washed laundry that would be just perfect for this occasion…

It was a beginning of a good day.

* * *

Meanwhile, the fighters of a certain tournament were having a mental breakdown, courtesy of friendly helper called internet.

Because of course, when there was a match between Kusanagi and Yagami, the excitement was always guaranteed, but for them to switch the gears and decide to have match in shape of dancing on ice, was definitely new.

 _ **IceManiac**_ – Yo, check out, guys, Yagami was ice-dancing against _**Kusanagi #Yagamionice #Kusanagilost**_ (45 k views)

 _ **LulaBee**_ \- Aww, Yagami is soo cute here _**#cutieYagami**_ (20k views)

 _ **LoLDude**_ – And get that – he was doing it with the guy! _**#awesomedudes**_ (60k views)

 _ **TBog**_ – Whaat, really? I would never think he was bent… but good luck to him! _**#goodluckiori**_ (4 k views)

 _ **Rzaki**_ \- I am _**traumatized.**_ That's not Yagami! It just _**isn't!**_ (4k views)

 _ **LulaBee**_ – Why not?

 _ **Rzaki**_ – He's _ **not**_ cuddly! He is the type to bask you down and claw you through, not to behave like some kind of a domesticated cat high on catnip! (5k views, 1k LOL's)

 _ **PetalPrincess**_ -Oh. Oh, my. I want some of this. _**#sexyYagami.**_ (32 k views, 28 k likes)

 _ **DancingQueen**_ – and his partner is such a cutie! Any idea who is he? _**#beautifulgreeneyes #BGE**_ (24 k views, 20 k likes)

 _ **AC**_ \- My, this is interesting. I think I will give Iori-chan a visit… _ **.#BGE, #wannatapthat**_ (25 k likes)

 _ **Rzaki**_ \- Your funeral. What kind of flowers would you like to have on your casket? _**#DONTTAPTHAT #needfuneralflowers**_ (67 k likes)

 _ **AC**_ – Ouch, that was _way_ too harsh. I just want to have some fun, and the _**#BGE**_ seems like it. (3k views, 200 likes)

 _ **Benny**_ – Agree with R. Still, good for Iori. _**#mybrainisfried #Yagamigotaguy**_

 _ **KYO**_ – Believe me, I saw it with my own eyes. Still can't believe it myself. Anyone having a brain bleach stashed somewhere? _**#helpme #needabrainbleach**_

 _ **DancingQueen**_ – _Mou_ , you are such a sore loser ], Kyo-chan. Better luck next time! _**[heart] #kyolostvid**_ (25 k views)

 _ **EveningStar**_ -Anyone knows where can I contact them? They are very good and I would like to hire them! (added email)

 _ **Benny**_ \- Just. No _ **. [horrified face]#Yagaminotakittenproof**_ (5k views)

 _ **TBog**_ – Mr. EveningStar, I wouldn't recommend that. (79 k views, 65 k likes)

 _ **KYO**_ – He kills kittens and puppies. Definitely. _**#Yagaminotakittenproof2**_ (3,5 k views)

 _ **Benny**_ \- KYO: Stop stealing my hastags. PS: You got any proof on your statement? Preferably visual. (5 k views, 6000 likes)

 _ **KYO**_ – No, but he definitely could! Even my gf agrees. (300 views)

 _ **Yuki-love**_ – NO, I DO NOT! That's an awful thing to say about such a sweet man! KYO:Why don't you treat me like _**#Iorigentleman?**_

 _ **KYO**_ – Um. But I do?

 _ **Yuki-love**_ – KYO:Shall I tell you the ways? _**#Kyoproblem #girlpower**_ (100k views, 92 k likes)

 _ **TBog**_ – Man, stop digging your grave. Women are always right. (102 k views, 100 k likes)

 _ **Benny**_ – KYO: What he said. (102 k views, 100,5 k likes)

 _ **AC**_ \- Benny: Do you want to tell us something with this _ **[ KYO:What he said]?**_

 _ **Benny**_ \- AC : Ladies man forever. _**#ladiesmanforever**_ (23 k visits, 20 k likes)

 _ **AC**_ \- Benny: Denial is not just a river in Egypt, man, but you sure are diving deep in it. _**#bennyindenial**_ (50 k visits 45k likes)

Suffice to say, the internet broke, and of course, people were now wondering just what was going among the KoF fighters in the relationship sense…

* * *

 _ **/To Be Continued/**_


	14. Chapter 14

_HOW I LOVE YOU_

* * *

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own _Harry Potter_ or _King of Fighters._

 _ **Shout Out:**_ This chapter is the last one for now, as I have to concentrate on another project. I will be uploading the next one Saturday or Sunday next week, depending on how the project in question will pan out. Thank you for your reviews, and I am happy to share this story with you all. _**Toytoya,**_ big answer is NO. And another one for you - Harry will have to come clear about his own abilities… and soon. _**Almonda**_ , thank you, happy to like the little makeshift family they've created. _**Amarante96**_ , oh the two will fuss, don't worry. Happy to hear you've enjoyed reading the breakdown chat-room, so to speak. _**Suzu no Miya**_ , here's to you, and Iori will have some gray hairs dealing with the intrepid duo that are Harry and Orochi… _**Asarita**_ , thank you. _**R.A. Cross**_ , glad to have you along the ride. Thanks for your support, everyone, and I hope to brighten your days with new chapters soon.

 _ **Warnings:**_ _**AU-verse**_ , _**SLASH,**_ long explanations are long and creative misuse of powers. Iori is also not in trouble for once…but has a feeling of certain doom nonetheless... Orochi stole the show, the jerk! _**Not beta-read.**_

* * *

"You know, it kind of bothers me that I got two for one deal." Harry murmured as he stretched across the couch, his eyes tearing a little with the force of yawn that managed to escape his mouth. The three of them had been on the song-writing for four hours already – well, Harry and Iori were, at any rate, while Orochi was petting the little miss highness that was Mischief and listening to their arguing back and forth, red eyes lazy in the afternoon light. It was a calm day, and while Iori had to get out to buy the groceries and Harry returned the books he had borrowed from the local library, the days was kind of calm, considering its explosive beginning at the morning.

Thankfully, they had finished the whole song to Iori's satisfaction - what remained was that Iori and his band tweak the melody to the song and practice it until it was their second nature. And knowing Iori, they would practice it until it would be ingrained in their very bones.

"You're right." Iori nodded to Harry as he went to place his guitar back to its case. Concluding the task, he returned back to Harry, scooping him up in a bridal hold and making him yelp with the unexpected movement, only for him to sit down on the pace Harry had occupied previously, with the green-eyes wizard glaring at him for his little stunt. Undaunted, Iori pecked his nose, causing the green eyes behind the glasses widen and an adorable blush appearing on his cheeks.

"You're terrible." Harry complained, but without heat in his voice as he used the chance to snuggle toward Iori's much warmer body.

"Of course." Iori smirked at his Harry - and wasn't that a grand feeling - before he looked at the spirit entity again. "Care to explain?"

Sighing, Orochi ruffled his hair, making it appear like some kind of a dandelion as he straightened himself up, much to Mischief's disgruntlement. The kitten growled, clawing his right tight in retaliation, before once again curling on his lap flicking its ear and closing the eyes to nap on. "I don't know." He replied, white eyebrows furrowing in consternation. "What I can offer, is a guess at most." He grumbled, peeved. It straight out galled him that he didn't know something, especially something so very important.

"Then guess away." Harry was actually curious himself how could that happen because at first he had thought Orochi as a part of Iori's personality, and to find out that Orochi was actually a separate entity, set out an entirely new ball game, so to speak. Absentmindedly, he felt Iori to hug him around the waist, and he joined his hand on top of his, feeling a jolt of warmth when Iori entangled his fingers with Harry's own. This was something Harry had missed, and wished for his own and now, he had it. Maybe not with a person he wished for, but it didn't matter. He would always love Hermione and wish her luck, however he silently promised himself that he wouldn't dwell on his unrequited feelings for her anymore. He deserved his own bit of happiness too, and it would be a foolishness of the utmost degree if he let it go just because it appeared in a little bit unconventional shape. Sometimes differences were a good thing, to experience and accept, which was Harry still slowly learning to deal with, but that may have been for the best.

 _Maybe Yamato-san was right…_

"I am a spirit entity, Gaia's protector." Orochi began slowly, interrupting Harry's flow of thoughts and gaining his attention. "I was created to protect her from harm a long time ago. But when humanity went too far, I retaliated." He scowled, red eyes darkening with wrath. "I would've wiped the fools off her visage, but I had been stopped by three warriors that sealed me away, leaving the humans to continue their misdeeds and destroy the planet even further." He growled, clenching his right hand and causing blueish white electricity to sparkle around the fist. Surprisingly Mischief snoozed on, unaware of the ire of force of nature whose lap she was currently napping in.

"Orochi, quit with the lightning show, unless you want us to be evicted out of the apartment, please." Harry requested, but his own eyes were glued on the electric arcs dancing around Orochi's fist nonetheless.

Orochi blinked as he looked at his hand. Exhaling, the previously almost blindingly bright arcs petered off, until they were very weak and the shade of sea blue, finally flickering off and leaving the fist bare. "I apologize. I am still furious at the three warriors that dared to fight against me and protect that scum." He sneered at the last word. "They had three divine implements even I, Orochi, could do nothing against if they were used in conjunction."

Iori listened, fascinated. It was one thing to read about, but completely another to hear it first hand. "The Shield, the Mirror and the Sword." He supplied, causing those red eyes flash at him. For a moment, he tensed, thinking that Orochi would be attacking him for his impertinence, but the spirit's shoulders slumped and eyes lowered to half-mast, once again lost in memories.

"Yes. _Kusanagi no Tsurugi, Kagami no Yata,_ and _Yasakani no Yagatama_." He hissed with dislike at the mere mention of the three. "The Three Sacred Treasures. The warriors managed to defeat and consequently seal me, thus preventing me from returning to this plane of existence. However, that didn't stop Yasakani Kunizuna from coming to me, begging me for the power to demolish the Kusanagi bastards who had killed his wife." He smiled mirthlessly. "The fool had done a blood promise, and I granted him the flames of destruction, both to him and his lineage to realize his vendetta against the wielders of _Kusanagi no Tsurugi._ If there weren't anyone of that accursed blood to hold the holy sword, then there was one less chance I would be sealed again, once I would've been free of the seals. And if Yasakani clan had been converted to madness what with using the flames I had granted them, then the chance was even smaller. To hide the shame of their failure, the Yasakani went into the hiding and renaming themselves as Yagami clan." Iori's jaw clenched at the revelation. He had already known that, of course, but it still didn't hurt any less.

"The Yagami and Kusanagi clans have been blood enemies ever since." He interjected, glaring at Orochi all the while as he clutched Harry closer to his body, as if to reassure himself that the wizard was still here, alive and breathing and not figment of imagination. Not one more bloody corpse to add to the ones already on his hands.

"But I managed to get free once more. "Orochi continued, grimacing at the memory. "My servants managed to break the seal, but not enough to release all of me to freedom. In haste, I managed to possess one of the fighters in the KoF tournament."

"Quick question." Confused, Harry lifted his left arm before lowering it again as he saw Orochi nod to him. "What is that KoF tournament you are speaking of?"

Iori's eyebrows quirked. _"Seriously?"_ He asked, incredulous. "You really don't know about King of Fighters?" The tournament, even if not known to many outside the fighter's circles, still had a diverse enough audience through the population, even if most of the dealings within the tournaments had been hushed from the masses, especially higher tier fights.

But looking into Harry's clueless eyes, Iori fought the urge to face palm. _Figures._ Only Iori would date someone who was completely in the dark that Iori was the boogeyman of that particular tournament. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the revelation.

"What, have you been under the rock all the while or something?" He just had to ask.

Harry glared at him. "You could say that. Besides, I didn't really have the time to drink tea and have my daily dose of morning newspaper news when I had played a wanted fugitive all over the country." He snapped out, peeved at Iori's tactless words.

* * *

Orochi tilted his head. _'Wanted fugitive? Oh, my. Seems my Little One's soul is on a little bit on an adventurous side.'_ He thought to himself, intrigued. That was a venue worth questioning… but much later. "King of Fighters tournament is the tournament for the best fighters of different martial arts, and the winner is crowned as a King of Fighters." He explained, before moving on as he stroked the kitten's back, causing it to purr louder in bliss. "I had been resurrected there because the accumulation of the fighters' energy managed to enable me to possess one of the Yagami fighters here." He reiterated, before sighing. "It wasn't enough, as both Chris and I were incompatible, thus allowing him use only a mere fraction of my abilities. To my additional misfortune, Yagami, Kusanagi and Chizuru were also there, managing to seal me again."

"The seal should have worked." Iori grumbled, discontented, causing Orochi to nod. "It would have, but Chizuru-san was the weak link in the sealing process. I've managed to wound her enough for her part of the sealing to be a little bit weaker than the ones of you and Kusanagi. Instead of cutting me off of this plane completely, like the last sealing had, this one left behind a small gap."

Harry's eyes widened with understanding and his hand entwined with Iori's clenched around the fighter's fingers. _"Iori."_ He breathed out, stunned.

"Correct." Orochi nodded, smiling. "And then, there was you."

"Me?" Harry looked quite comical, blinking owlishly at the proclamation, his glasses a little askew and appearance rumpled. Iori ruffled his hair even further, prompting a small swat and a pout for his troubles.

"I've noticed that there was something different when Iori was in contact with you. The air seemed somehow…cleaner, purer, if that makes any sense." Orochi frowned faintly. "Despite you being cursed and blessed, your presence calmed me down from my usual pain and rage."

"Are you talking about eternal flame?" Iori questioned. Orochi paused, thinking. "No. It's not that. It's something else." He finally replied, the words halting on his tongue. "It made me sit up and notice him. The eternal flame was just a bonus, so to speak."

"Glad to hear that." Harry remarked, and for once, his words rang true. "But that still doesn't explain just how I separated you two. The first time when we've met, you've used Iori as a medium."

Closing his eyes in an acute embarrassment at the memory, Iori groaned. "Please don't talk about it like that – it makes me feel like I am a cardboard box full of evil goodies." He complained, prompting Orochi to scowl at him and Harry to chuckle.

Harry giggled at his disgruntled voice, but nodded all the same. "But it was oh so true." He teased, making Iori poke him into the ribs and letting out a yelp.

"You resemble the remark, Iori." Orochi couldn't help but join the teasing. "Anyway, that energy of yours acted similar to the fighters' energies enough that when you whacked Iori with the _harissen_ , to give it a final push for the seal to open wide enough to let me outside."

Harry slumped. "So it was all my fault in the end?" He groaned, as he rubbed his face in embarrassment. "And what does that mean for us?"

"I would term it a lucky happenstance." Orochi replied back quickly. "I am not sharing Iori's head space anymore, and I can interact with you on my own volition. That's also the second part of a reason why I proposed the familiar contract. Somehow, your energy is stabilizing mine, allowing me to exist outside the seal."

Iori quickly cottoned on what Orochi was aiming. "So no random possessions of my body anymore?" He asked, a little bit suspicious of his good fortune.

"If all goes well, no." Orochi agreed. "I would be existing separately of you as I am, my own entity entirely.

"And what if Harry's strange energy collapses or something? What would happen then?" Iori was relentless in his questioning.

Orochi paused. "I... didn't think about it yet." He admitted slowly. "If it does, when we still haven't formed the contract, it would simply return me back into the seal and the co-existence with you."

Iori mentally cringed at the possibility. It wouldn't be nearly as simple as Orochi was painting it to be, because there would be certainly a good deal of pain present along the ride.

"And if we form the contract beforehand?" Harry looked at Orochi, green eyes serious. He had inkling what that _'energy'_ was, but he was holding mum for now.

Both brown and red pair of eyes snapped to him. "I would be free." Orochi breathed out, red eyes widening as he imagined the feeling, before slamming on his mental brakes as he looked at Harry.

"I am not as strong as you." Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair, messing it even more.

Orochi smiled at the ruffled green-eyed wizard. "It's like a collar." He offered, smirking at Iori's startled glare, but Harry perked up, green eyes zeroing on him with curiosity. "Oh? Is that what Iori's collar is doing?"

Iori spluttered. "No, it's not! And _you,_ " he pointed at the smirking spirit threateningly "Stay away from my collars!"

Orochi chuckled. "Oh? Jealous that I will be getting one made by my Little One? Tsk, how petty." He clicked his tongue, amused at Iori's defensiveness of this particular fashion accessory of his.

"But they are _my_ trademark!" Iori complained, only to click his mouth shut when Harry turned around and looked into his eyes incredulously.

" _Really,_ Iori?" Harry asked flatly. _"Really?"_ He watched, fascinated, as Iori blushed and avoided his eyes. Smiling, Harry reached up and hugged him. "You are you, with or without collar." He whispered into his ear. "But if you really want to, I can get one for you." He blushed so hard he felt his cheeks burning, but the grateful shine in Iori's eyes out weighed the embarrassment, if only by a smidgen.

Iori gifted him with a kiss before he let him go, only for Harry to be kissed by Orochi causing the Yagami heir to roll his eyes at the spirit's possessiveness.

"But what does it mean, for Orochi to be your familiar?" He addressed Harry after Orochi kissed him, causing his green-eyed roommate to blink.

"Essentially, we are bound to death and beyond. If I die, he dies. " Harry explained, before frowning in confusion. "But that is with ordinary animals. Maybe the rules are different with spirits." He shook his head, frustrated. "I've never heard of the parthership where the familiar would be a spirit entity instead of animal, so I am not sure on that score."

A tense silence reigned between the three of them.

"So… How do we do it?"

Harry's innocent question made Iori face palm for real at his stubbornness and Orochi laugh - in fact, he laughed so hard he fell off the couch he had been kneeling on when he had kissed Harry. His body quivered with mirth, and his stomach was curiously hurting, but really -

His Little One was a truly precocious soul, indeed!

Catching his breath, he looked at the blushing and pouting green-eyed youth, who had his arms crossed on his chest as he glared at his still chuckling form. "We can't do anything until we know more about that strange energy of yours." Harry's face lost its frustrated cast and morphed into a more sheepish one.

"Well, I may know a thing or two about it."

Orochi swiftly stood up and flopped on the couch, thoroughly entertained. Whatever Harry had to answer, it was bound to be interesting.

"Do tell, Little One." He smiled. At the rate this was going, Orochi had no doubt he wouldn't be bored for a long time coming.

* * *

 ** _/To Be Continued/_**


	15. Chapter 15

_**HOW I LOVE YOU**_

* * *

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own _Harry Potter_ or _King of Fighters_. For shame. But maybe it's better that way...

 _ **Shout Out:**_ I am still not out of the woods, project-wise, but I had some time and wrote the chapter, just because those three wouldn't leave me alone. So I will try to update next weekend again. (and meanwhile kick that stubborn project of mine ahead the best I am able to.) _**Toytoya,**_ no worries, you haven't offended me. I don't have anything against MPREG; however I am not writing about it in this story. _**ShizuBABE**_ ; next dose of melting for you... or probably not. You decide. _**Amarante96**_ , those two will get really protective over Harry. _**R.A Cross,**_ and _**Lady Kaiki,**_ hope you enjoy this chapter. With that being said, onward to reading!

 _ **Warnings:**_ _**AU-verse, SLASH,**_ Harry is reckless

* * *

It was a bad, bad idea.

A colossally bad idea.

He was breaking some five hundred and more rules, what with his little decision to let them into the fold, so to speak.

Because of course, Azkaban was just _fabulous_ at that time of the year, last time he heard about it.

(Not that he actually _wanted_ to see the wizarding equivalent of Alcatraz for any length of time.)

But if anyone asked him right then and there, Harry would tell them that he didn't care.

Technically, Iori couldn't be classified as a Muggle because of his use of the cursed flames - if things turned out to worst, he would simply be labelled as one of the Squibs and left as that. Orochi was a spirit and power-wise, a half-deity, so any attempts short of sealing him within Iori would be curb stomped into the next millennium so badly even the descendants of the would-be fools who would have tried to do the deed would feel it.

Harry didn't have many experiences with extremely powerful supernatural creatures aside the Basilisk and Hungarian Horntail, but even he knew that Orochi was magnitudes above both of those creatures, dangerous as they were.

Besides, he felt mean enough to give the Ministry of Magic double middle fingers for all the trouble they've caused him before he had had enough and gone abroad to have some peace from the incompetent buffoons employed there. Of course, the post-war situation was a little bit better in terms of people elected to lead the sheeple out of the mess Voldemort and his little minions had caused, but Harry had no interest to become second Dumbledore.

Iori and Orochi had been completely honest with him, even when they could turn the situation to their benefit. And Harry appreciated that.

Inhaling the air, he looked at two persons who had managed, in such a short time, somehow wiggle in his shriveled, wounded heart and make themselves at home there, not that they knew of it. For once, Harry allowed himself to be selfish regardless the consequences that would surely awaited them in the future. But come what may, Harry would fight tooth and nail to keep those two for himself.

He looked at the two, and had to suppress a smile how both similar and contrasting they were. Iori, with his fiery mane of red and brown eyes, and Orochi, with his white strands falling messily on his forehead and around his ears, red eyes gleaming with curiosity as he gazed upon Harry. Both tall, towering over him, and to Harry's silent disgruntlement, built like brickhouse. They didn't really have the bodybuilder's form, but they were not close to a swimmer or dancer's build either. Instead, it was the cross of the two, supple, defined muscles deftly fastened on the robust skeleton and covered with velvety smooth skin that was covered with their respective clothes – Orochi had on white trousers and silver-edged black T shirt, while Iori had decided to wear an ensemble of loose dark blue pants and opened button up shirt with gray sleeveless shirt underneath the blue one, the colors offsetting the red of his hair even more than usual. And both of them sitting, oh so innocently on the couch, with Harry in the middle.

"You've said you died once." Iori prompted, his dark gaze serious, causing Orochi to calm down and Harry to grimace.

Harry wanted to hide his face. Or hide period. What he could, was to close his eyes in helpless exasperation, and he did. Why, just why, did Iori have to jump to the worst questions imaginable. Instead, he made a long-suffering face and nodded. "Indeed." His reply was clipping before the green-eyed wizard forced himself to relax and look into the fighter's eyes. "I won't go into all the details, but when he was born, some crack pot Seer prophesized that I was an equal to a Dark Lord that terrorized my people, and as a result, the idiot went after me. Long story short, my parent's friend gave out their location, and the idiot came in to kill me. He killed both of my parents, but when he tried to off me, something happened and I survived while he was temporarily disabled as a spirit. "

Orochi's finely crafted nostrils flared a little, a small sign of his interest. "Something happened, you say?" he murmured as he scooted even closer to the wizard, looking at those distracted green eyes. Harry shrugged as he began to play with his pullover's hemp idly. "Don't know what exactly, but it left me with my mother's protection and the ability to speak Parseltongue."

"Parseltongue?" Iori's question was ignored as Orochi stilled.

"Language of serpents." He replied distractedly as he nodded to Harry to continue.

"I was taken to my Aunt and Uncle to be taken care off, as apparently the idiot's minions were still wandering free. Not really ideal situation, because they didn''t want to foster me, but I managed." Harry sighed as he ruffled his hair distractedly in an attempt to gather his thoughts. "When I was eleven years old, I finally found out why they were so reluctant to take care of me." He looked at both Orochi and Iori. "Turned out that I was - _am_ \- a wizard."

* * *

Iori saw Orochi's pupils dilate with surprise. "… Oh. So that was why you are so different." The snake spirit hummed as he reached out with his hand up to touch Harry's forehead and tracing out something like a… lightning bolt?

He saw Harry flinch a little, but the wizard straightened out and glared at him. "Yes."

Iori got a feeling they weren't talking about rabbit hats and secretly switched doves. "And what does that mean for you?" He interjected as he placed his hand on Harry's right knee to attract his attention to himself.

Harry turned his head and looked at him. "The entire shebang - wand-waving, potion-making, broom-riding and technology-inept culture." He deadpanned. "Wizards and witches are people who can manipulate energy, similar to the computer games. If for example – "He reached for the cup, and flung it on the floor, causing the object to shatter – "This happens - " He waved at the shards, making them fly together to mold into the cup, the razor sharp edges and tiny cracks of the cup vanishing, as if in a reverse movie, before the cup soared into Harry's hands. "We can undo the damage." He finished as the cup somehow filled itself with piping hot tea. "Or we can transform their shapes, or travel in an instant from one point to another. No bullshit about making deals with devil, though there are rituals that can dehumanize a wizard in order to gain more power, but the cost is not exactly advisable."

Iori stared at the cup, and then back to Harry, who was looking a little bit tired. "Usually, we rely on the wands." Harry offered his breathing a little bit heavier than usual. "Wandless magic - that is, without wand – is hard to do because wands are essentially our conduct for different ways to shape magic." He coughed slightly before inhaling a deeper breath.

"And you are saying there's entire society of people with similar powers to yours." Iori summarized, his voice flat, but brain whirling with possibilities. "In hiding."

"Why do you hide, Little One?" Orochi's sibilant voice coiled around them, those red eyes staring at the wizard unblinkingly.

"Because of the witch hunts." Harry sighed as he unconsciously leaned back into Iori, clutching to the mug all the while. "And even with people being more tolerant to the supernatural, if they had known we existed for real, we would be besieged with requests to make their problems go away. Which is impossible. We can do many thing with magic, but even magic has limits. " Wearily, he pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing it gently as if to stave an headache. "Moving on, the society is backwards to the extreme, still stuck in feudal times. "

"How so?" Orochi questioned, intrigued. He had seen many things in his existence, but the story Harry was narrating was just fascinating. Granted, he now knew just why he didn't react to Harry like he would to an ordinary human to a degree, but he suspected it was more to it than only those little tidbits.

"Wizarding society is roughly divided in three sections - Purebloods, the descendants of the magic-wielding folk that lived in the society since the very beginning, Muggleborn, and typically have the most of the power, just like nobles of old. Then, Half-bloods, or more accurately, first generation magicals. Usually born from a Pureblood and Muggleborn union, usually living on the trenches of the magic world. Muggleborns are people with magic born outside the society. Squibs are the people born to two magicals, but they are unable to properly channel Magic, though they do have some measure of the gift, but it's usually passive, unless they are in an extreme danger."

"Oh. You mean it was like French Revolution?" It was Iori's turn to ask. Green eyes looked at him, surprised. "Actually, you are not that far off the description." Harry nodded at him, mildly impressed and Iori smirked. "But in this case it was more like Purebloods pushing for a total seclusion from the rest of the world and insisting on treating Half-bloods and Muggleborns like inferiors, and consequently disregarding the dangers Muggles presented to them."

"Muggles?" Iori blinked. "You mean non-magicals?" Harry nodded, his shoulders slumping. "Yes. Furthermore, it was the Dark faction pushing for it, with Voldemort at helm." He grimaced. "Dark faction mostly consists of the Purebloods and traditionalists, so they have a big pull on how the things are done. Light faction is more Half-blood and Muggleborn-inclined, with some Purebloods thrown in. They are for merging of both the Muggle and mundane world. At first, Voldemort aimed for a complete separation of the magical word from mundane. But he went insane from the Dark Arts, and when he heard about a prophecy that a child could be a threat to his reign, he decided to eliminate the threat before it could've been realized. I survived. My parents didn't." He shrugged self-consciously under the weight of their gazes. "Turned out that whatever had he done before trying to off me, it tethered him to this world."

Orochi made a humming noise. "I can see how that could be … inconvenient." His delicately phrased demand for more answers caused Harry to snort with humor.

" _Very_ inconvenient." Harry agreed, sighing. Iori wrapped a hand around Harry's waist just to reassure himself he was still here. He had a feeling he would need it. "Anyway, when I was eleven, Hagrid came for me and told me that I am a wizard, and a hero to boot." Harry's eyelids shuttered to a half-mast in his memories, but he placed his hand atop of Iori's, fingers playing with the edges of the red haired man's nails, like Iori was some kind of a cat.

"First year, Philosopher's Stone. " Orochi jerked upright.

" _WHAT!?"_ He hissed out, incensed. "So someone managed to make one of those abominations _again?"_

Surprised, Iori unconsciously clutched Harry to himself. "What do you mean with that?" He demanded. Meanwhile, Harry drank up his tea and settled the cup on the club table, grunting slightly when he had to bend forward to set the cup down before he relaxed back into Iori's embrace.

"They are an _anathema_ to the natural order of things!" Orochi spat out, practically hissing in the process. "It should have been impossible to make it, because it needs the blood of all four Heavenly Beasts, unwillingly given!" Harry's eyes widened with surprise.

"… I didn't know that." Harry's shocked whisper made Iori clench his teeth. "Why is that so important?" He addressed the snake spirit, who was now sparking brightly with rage, floating almost a feet off the couch.

Orochi growled something under his breath, but then, those blood red eyes zeroed on Iori, causing the Yagami heir to feel the chill of foreboding. "The Four Heavenly Beasts are Seiryuu, Suzaku, Byakko and Genbo. They are Guardians of the Gates to this realm, existing from the beginning of the time." He sighed, his forehead furrowing in concern. "Because they are ancient, their blood has mythical proportions. Suzaku's offspring are known as phoenixes, and Seiryuu presides over serpents of all kinds" He replied grudgingly. "So you can imagine their blood is extremely potent catalyst and if an unscrupulous person got a hold of it, even if just of one of them, it can spell disaster." He sighed as he rubbed his right temple gently, as if having a headache. "The Philosopher's Stones are the amalgamation of their blood, capable of turning lead into gold, and when drunk as an elixir, they can lengthen the lifespan of the drinker way beyond the natural limits, thus allowing them to cheat death, but for the price of their offspring, making them infertile in the process." He gifted both Harry and Iori with a heavy stare. "Some of the _'accidents'_ I had been involved in were caused by the misuse of those cursed things." He managed to speak through the gritted teeth, remembering the incidents in question.

"Dumbledore said the stone was destroyed in my confrontation with Voldemort." Harry supplied quietly, causing those slitted eyes flash back at him.

"That isn't true." Orochi rebuffed. "The Stone is practically invulnerable, aside for when it's in a liquid state. " Tilting his head he looked at the gob-smacked wizard shrewdly. "Why did he lie to you?"

Harry stilled. "I don't know." His face was stony with green eyes like dark emeralds swirling in troubled waters. "At the time, I was just relieved that Voldemort hadn't gotten his hands on it to return into his corporeal form." He spoke out slowly, causing Iori to entwine their fingers together while shooting Orochi a warning glare to tone his light show down.

Orochi short him a glare, but complied, slowly descending back on the couch. "Corproreal form?" He prompted Harry to continue.

"Voldemort possessed one of my teachers to get to the Stone that year." Harry's reply was distracted as his brain was still mulling over the new facs he had gotten in the last few minutes. "I had to stop him with burning him where I touched him."

Orochi blinked, taken aback. "Are you sure you are not some kind of descendant or favored by Suzaku?" At Harry's glare he hurriedly explained. "It's just that the burning aspect is a characteristic of theirs."

Harry shook his head. "No. No flames like Iori's or anything else. I just touched him and he got the burns." He shrugged. "Dumbledore said it was a mother's sacrifice acting as a defense, so to speak. Anyway, second year wasn't anything better what with the Basilisk roaming the halls and preying on Muggleborns and Half-bloods." Grimacing slightly, he unintentionally touched his left arm, dragging their attention to that particular spot.

Quick as a snake, Orochi reached out, snagged Harry's arm and pushed the sleeve up, revealing an ugly scar almost at the elbow joint, causing Harry to yelp in protest at his actions.

"And you've gone after the Basilisk." Iori whispered, his eyes glued to the scar. "Why?" He addressed Harry, his blood chilled at the thought just how easily he could've lost Harry before he even got a lucky chance to know him.

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. "It was because Ginny was taken into the Chamber of Secrets." He really didn't want to talk about that particular episode in depth, because judging by his friends' gazes, he was about to be chained to the duo until eternity and beyond, and Harry hoped that his gut wasn't true on the issue.

"Ginny?" Iori's purr was dangerous, and the man's clutch around Harry's trapped fingers even more so. "A younger sister of my friend." Harry elaborated. "She got that diary she was writing into it, but the longer she wrote in it, the more of her life force transferred to the fragment in the diary."

"Let me guess." Orochi's hiss was similar to a death sentence right now. "Voldemort again."

"Or a part of him." Harry agreed. "Long story short, because I was a Parselmouth, I was the only one who could open the access to the Chamber where she was taken. But I was almost too late – Tom – Voldemort – was already solid when I came down, calling out the Basilisk to kill me with. " He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. "Obviously didn't work for him." Iori snorted at the understatement of the year.

"And what happened to the little king?" Orochi inquired grimly. Green eyes looked back at him, blinking. "I killed him with a sword ramming through the mouth."

* * *

Silence. Profound, utter silence.

"Second thoughts?" Iori addressed the silent spirit wryly.

Orochi glared at him before looking back at the wizard in Iori's hold.

"I'm sorry?" Harry offered weakly, blushing slightly as he ducked his head, not looking into Orochi's red eyes. Orochi sighed. "You really couldn't stop the little king?" He sighed, shouders dropping with the disappointment. "You do speak the tongue."

Harry glared at him. "No. He obeyed only Voldemort's orders, as he had been bound to Slytherin line. While I got the gift of snake speak via pure happenstance, Voldemort had it as his birthright." He growled. "I couldn't exactly reason with a 60 feet long snake rushing toward me without looking into its eyes or standing here and waiting to be chomped in two." He bit out testily.

* * *

Orochi had to bite back a cringe. His own animal form dwarfed the Basilisk one, but from human's perspective, the Basilisk was indeed monster to be reckoned with. He wasn't comfortable with the fact that Harry – no, his Little One had to kill one of his brethren, even if in self-defense, but there were extenuinating circumstances. He sighed.

"No second thoughts. I still want to be your familiar. " He addressed Harry, watching how those green eyes widened with surprise and a smidge of relief.

"Really?" The wizard asked hopefully as he reached out with his right hand, prompting Orochi to clasp it with his own and smile at his Little One. "Of course. You are my Little One, after all." Then, he got serious once again. "The Suzaku's descendant saved you then?"

Harry blinked, surprised. "How did you know?"

It was Orochi's turn to shrug. "Scent." He tapped his nose. "And really, there's only one thing that can counteract the little king's venom." He leaned at the back rest of the couch, tucking his legs into a pretzel. "But how did you get the sword?"

"Fawkes." Harry replied, smiling. "Actually, he dropped the Sorting Hat on my head. I got a good goose egg from the sword falling on my head." He replied, good-humored at the memory of that time.

"Can imagine." Orochi relied dryly. "Dare we hope the next years were less turbulent?"

Harry shook his head. "Oh, no. It was only the beginning. "

"I am almost afraid to ask." Iori interjected, still shocked that this small slip managed to fell such monstrous animal with only a sword. Harry seemed to be a magnet for trouble, similar to Kyo. While it was a little concerning thought, it almost reassured Iori to know that Harry was no damsel in distress, but instead someone who doesn't hesitate to act, whether to defend himself or the others.

* * *

When Harry finally finished telling them the entire sordid affair, the room was silent. The air was crackling with ozone and had a smell of burning flames – Iori's temper got better of him, prompting him to involuntarily activate the cursed flames, while Orochi activated his strange blueish white arcs of electricity. Surprisingly, Mischief didn't even twitch. Harry pondered why was the kitten so unconcerned by danger, even going so far as to growl with unhappiness and claw Orochi's thigh when the snake spirit went indeed too far in his anger.

Boti Iori and Orochi were not the least bit happy when they found out just what the dying entailed. Harry had to hold onto the both of them to prevent them from storming directly to England to deliver some good old fashioned violence on the heads of the stupid people that were wizards and witches.

But at least one good thing came out of the whole thing. Harry had no more secrets from the duo, which was a relief. He was also pleasantly surprised than neither of the two offered him any pity when they found just how miserable was his life in England. Instead, they were angry at his behest, protective, and possessive - Harry didn't exactly agree with the last two, but it still lit a warm fire in the hollow of his chest that they would take his side.

There was still that pesky matter of Iori's shorter lifespan because of his use of cursed flames, but Harry was sure they could find… something.

 _TOC TOC_

He heard the knocking on the window, along with an impatient hoot, causing his head to jerk around to look at the window.

Harry straightened out. There were not many people who knew where he went – actually, only four were in the know, and to see the orange owl with blue checkered scarf around its neck glaring at him from the perch…

"Ariel!" He exclaimed, disentangling himself from the duo and striding toward the owl to open a window for the avian to get through. "What are you doing here?"

Now named Ariel gave him a stinky look from his big golden eyes as he screeched while ruffling his feathers, a middle-size parcel hanging from his claws, tied to his legs for a good measure. Harry winced from the bird's reproachful glare. Ariel was a little bit peculiar owl, who belonged to a certain Ravenclaw oddball. Harry had gifted Ariel to her after the war, and the imposing owl – despite it's strange coloring – took quite a shine to the girl, even going so far as to vehemently defend her from all and any people who meant her harm. The twins joked that Ariel was a Crookshanks in a bird shape, only to be chased around by the same bird, sharp claws on the ready to carve some hard lessons in their flesh.

(Turned out that Ariel was quite a clever bird, even managing to turn the twins' pranks against them. Surprisingly enough, Harry was excluded from the avian retaliation, but not from the occasional whack with the wing on his head, along with a scathing glare. Unlike Hedwig, Ariel couldn't be bribed, much to the twins' dismay and Harry's entertainment.)

"Orange owl?" Iori asked, surprised. Orochi blinked. Ariel was indeed sunset orange, a strange color for his species.

"Orange owl." Harry confirmed, distracted. "Sorry for making you wait, Ariel. Is Luna okay?" He addressed the owl, getting a softer hoot and a nod as an answer.

"Is he a familiar?" Giving Mischief to Iori and standing up Orochi came closer to the strange owl, making him ruffle his feathers and give him a sharp look, before letting Harry to relieve him off his burden.

The burden in question was a small, square-shaped parcel. When Harry untied the ties and the brown paper, he found himself with a small box and a letter.

Smiling softly, he reached for the latter and opened it. The paper cracked underneath his fingers, seemingly empty of the contents. Slicing himself on the edge of the paper, Harry let a small drop fall on the paper.

"I'm your fool." He muttered the password, and the small – tiny, really – drop of the blood sunk into the paper, only to reveal the message.

' _Dear Harry,_

 _I am relieved that you are feeling better. Crumple-Horned Snorkacks said that you would need the enclosed materials to bond with your familiar. Give my greetings to the Protector and thanks to your Ignis._

 _Currently, I am in Norway, traveling with Rolf Scamander. We are searching for Tibbleshwing Autipons. Daddy is excited that we managed to prove the existence of the Snorkacks already!_

 _Take care of yourself,_

 _Your little moon.'_

* * *

 _ **/To Be Continued/**_


	16. Chapter 16

_HOW I LOVE YOU_

* * *

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own _Harry Potter_ or _King of Fighters_. Enjoy!

 _ **Shout Out:**_ Well. Seems I've managed to write something, because one particular character tried to smuggle in and well. You will see the results shortly. Freedom isn't as free as it seems, after all… _**Almonda**_ , thank you! I loved to read your review, and I promise more cuddle times with the three of them soon! _**Lady Kiki, R.A Cross, RavenWhiteMoi, jgood**_ , this one's for you! _**Firehedgehog,**_ nice to see you back in action!

 _ **Warnings:**_ _**AU-verse, SLASH,**_ and of course, misunderstandings from Kyo's favorite errand boy. Oh, and Orochi's misuses his powers.

* * *

Yamabuki Shingo was known for a few things. First of them, he was a normal guy. Secondly, he was a die-hard fan of one Kusanagi Kyo, even going so far as to emulate his clothing and fighting style. Thirdly, he was obsessed with producing the flames, just like his 'great' hero. He was dressed in his usual getup – white T-shirt combined with dark blue _gakuran,_ trousers and dark brown shoes with his ever-beloved fingerless gloves, gift from the Kuranagi-sama himself protecting his hands. His forehead was covered by a white headband, similar to one of his hero, and Shingo was even thinking of letting his hair grow some so that the two of them would have identical haircuts.

But right now, he was a happy-go-lucky guy on the errand of doing his grocery run for his master, aka lazy brat aka Kusanagi Kyo.

Humming cheerfully, he stepped into the shop, intent to grab the necessities Kyo asked from him. It was truly a great honor to serve his master like this, truly it did! Grabbing a basket, he made a beeline toward the meat section. Because a big, steaming hot bowl of _katsudon_ was just the best to eat at the cool evenings like this one.

When he still deliberated which packing to take, his shoulder was bumped by a stranger, and Shingo turned to give them a piece of his mind.

He was confronted with a tall form, clad in black leather coat with white hair framing his face and –

Shingo's blood positively froze –

-blood red, slit-pupil eyes -

"Y-You!" He stuttered as he backed away, his finger trembling as he pointed at the stranger. "What are _you_ doing here?"

The stranger – no, the enemy – blinked. "I am buying meat for _katsudon_ tonight." He replied before his gaze wandered back to the row of meat packages in front of him, white eyebrows scrunching pensively

Shingo scowled. "You are not!" He bit out. "Are you trying to destroy humankind again? In that case, Kusanagi-san will stop you again!" He clenches his hands into the fists, feeling the warm fabric clinging to the skin like some kind of a talisman. If the Kusanagi-san had been here, this bastard would've already been ten feet under, but well, Shingo was here and he would stop the menace even if it cost him his life, like a true disciple of Kusanagi Kyo would!

So clenching his chin and trying to calm the shaking of his body, he glared at the imposing form of his enemy once again.

"What are you doing here, Mizuchi-teme?"

Red eyes glared at him once again. "I've already told you." Mizuchi growled back, an eerie flash of lightning speeding across his pupils and for a moment, Shingo felt like a mouse trapped in the front of snake, well about to be gulped down as a tasty snack. "And for your information, I am not that Mizuchi person." He sniffed delicately before blinking and reaching for one particular box.

Shingo's eyes widened with horror. It was the last deluxe box of the super tasty pork cutlets and what was more; it was the brand Kusanagi-sensei liked the best!

"You. Give me that box."

* * *

The freedom of walking through that stinky human town was no freedom at all, but Orochi appreciated the chance to stretch his legs anyway. He had to borrow some of Iori's clothes, much to the Yagami's heir disgruntlement, but otherwise, he was out and about with Harry's blessings to buy the ingredients for their dinner. Of course, he was strictly forbidden to use any of his techniques lest he terrorized the fleshbags into doing something stupid, but Orochi wasn't interested in causing the mass panic. Though it confused him why females were looking at him with blushes painting their face even more they already were. He fought the urge to sneeze – those scents were just so itchy and annoying, and for a moment, he wished that he could still possess Iori's body. Even if the fighter's senses were extremely weaker than his, he at least wouldn't have to deal with that ever present itch to sneeze something terrible.

He was clad in black leather duster coat with his signature white trousers and shoes and dark grey short-sleeved shirt underneath Around his neck hung a vivid red scarf, courtesy of Harry and his fussing over his health. Orochi just didn't have a heart to tell his wizard that such fussing was unnecessary, because spirits as a rule don't get sick, but he still accepted the scarf, and it was a blessing in a disguise, what with it blocking the stench of human bodies and dirty at least a little bit and preventing him from going to a rampage.

But if that little gnat in front of him wouldn't stop with his annoying squawking and demands….

Orochi's vein on the side of his forehead throbbed.

He was not that idiotic clone of his.

But then, the gnat in question - Orochi didn't bother to ask for his name - had the _galls_ to demand his box of pork cutlets - the only one whose meat smelled half decently among the rest.

"You dare to ask that of I?" His voice was deathly quiet, and if any of his subordinates had been there, they would've begged for mercy. Or at least for a quick death. But this - this gnat had not only the galls for mistaking him with his clone of all things, but also to demand what was Orochi's by simple virtue of acquiring it before the fleshbag placed its dirty piggy eyes on it.

Never mind that it was 'just' a box of pork cutlets - it was Orochi's pork of cutlets, which should be a reason enough for anyone, especially that little …

"It's Kusanagi-sama's!" The gnat still insisted. "Because you lost it's only fair to give him a tribute as thanks for his mercy toward you!"

Orochi clenched his jaw as he fought not to activate some of his more divine abilities. Like flash-frying the idiot into the oblivion. The box creaked ominously under the pressure of his hands, and there was a scent of burning plastics permeating the air.

"You are fool to not heed one such as I." He growled, swallowing the poison in his mouth. "Are you so eager to return to nothing?"

"If that means stopping you, then yes!" The gnat growled - _growled! –_ at him, cracking it's knuckles confidently. In the back of his mind, Orochi felt a concerned nudge from his Little One. Breathing in slowly, he forced himself to relax and turn around in preparation to walk away from the idiot. Sending a small reassuring nudge back to Harry, he began walking away, bound and determined not to lose the hold on his temper. It just wouldn't do for someone such as him, Yagami no Orochi, to lose it because some flea-minded fleshling dared to spout nonsense.

Such a small fry wasn't worthy of his time.

"Oi! Did you hear me, Mizuchi!" A hand grabbed his shoulder and –

Fuck it _._ Glaring, Orochi then closed his eyes and released the hold on his powers.

 _ZZZAP!_

An almighty crackle echoed through the store, cancelling the electricity going through it in an instant, leaving but a few emergency lights pitifully blinking from the ceiling.

Orochi calmly strode forward, not caring that he just electrocuted the annoying fly in a flash, leaving behind one Yamabuki Shingo with his hair raised in a porcupine style and covered in soot from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet, exhaling a small black cloud, his brown eyes comically wide and just now comprehending that he may have bitten more than he could've chewed.

"I – " Orochi glared at the pest. "Am Yamata no Orochi." The announcement done, he strode toward the oblivious cashier, unmindful of Shingo crumbling onto the floor behind him.

* * *

Shingo stared at the retreating back of Kusanagi-sama's number one enemy, his eyes watering with anguish.

"I ... " He swallowed. "I won't be able to present Kusanagi-sama his favorite pork cutlets!" He finally wailed out, as he began sobbing in earnest, completely forgetting about the stranger's ominous introduction.

Such a shame, he was surely undeserving of his title of being the only disciple of Kusanagi Kyo-sama!

* * *

Coming out of the shop, Orochi sneezed, causing the shop he just came out of to sink into a complete darkness.

Sniffling in irritation, he headed home. Next time, he would leave that particular chore to Iori, and enjoy his cuddle time with his Little One.

Yes, that would be for the best.

* * *

 _ **/To Be Continued/**_


	17. Chapter 17

_HOW I LOVE YOU_

* * *

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own _Harry Potter_ or _King of Fighters_ or the song used.

 _ **Shout Out:**_ Scrapped some time together, and lo and behold, brand new chapter here. Sorry for being late, but another of my projects demanded my attention. Anyway, time for some answers! _**anthea tronchard step**_ \- valid questions, but if that would have worked, then the Death Munchers wouldn't have half the trouble tracing the resistance they had in original series. I simply postulate that wizards don't have long-range search/pinpoint spell, and that's why they hadn't found Harry yet. No, Remus is alive and kicking. Ginny and her obsession - well, you will just have to wait and see here. Not giving out all the spoilers, after all. _**Almonda**_ , thank you, your review was just precious. Glad to read I managed to make you laugh! _**RavenWhiteMoi,**_ by all means, he's all yours _. **R.A Cross**_ and _**Firehedgehog**_ , glad to amuse you! _**Unwanted Hero**_ , sorry to post late, but I hope this will once again brighten your day, things are moving forward, after all. And thank you for being so patient! _**Guest**_ , thank you and enjoy!

 _ **Warnings:**_ _**AU-verse, SLASH**_ , gratuitous cursing, original characters, so no stealing these! And Iori does it again. Poor him.

* * *

The intertwined sounds of drums and bass were echoing in the old garage. The place was brightly lit and despite being in an abandoned complex, it was remarkably taken care of, even if the air was a little bit too cold for tastes of anyone who would dare to wander into that particular building.

However, this didn't bother the two musicians by the least, both of them strumming - or drumming, depending on their instruments – time away, waiting for their leader. With the last, resounding crash, the song was finished for a time, leaving the notes resound in the otherwise bare-walled place. Nobody would have thought that such a spare, almost ascetic room was the place for an up-and-coming band, because aside the instruments and a small fridge in the left corner, there were no other amenities to make the time here more comfortable.

"Where the fuck is he?" The drummer growled out, shaking her semi-short dark red curly hair, pulled into a messy bun as she panted, wiping her face with the towel she was wearing around her neck. She was clad in a tight black T-shirt with a white cobra painted in the front. The curl on her face was blown away by the breath from her lips as the dark, smoky eyes looked at her wristwatch. "He is late!"

"Calm down, Ylena." The bassist placated her, raising his hands in front of him, as if to ward off the waves of invisible malice radiating from her petite form. Despite her ferocious personality, Ylena was positively tiny in stature, a mere 5.2 in height, but that didn't deter her from being one of the best damn bassists around, in the world that was still dominated by male gender. She had a mean right hook too, courtesy of her drumming the hours away – the drummers not only had to have stamina, but also strength to last through the entire concert and Ylena, little spitfire she was, had both in spades.

Tinkering with his bass, Ren shook his head. He pitied Iori for daring to incurring Ylena's wrath. _Riot of Blood_ or not, Ylena in her apoplectic rage was fucking _terrifying_ and Iori better have a damn good reason to be so late to their rehearsal, else Ylena would skin him alive with her trusty drumsticks. The bassist was tall, 6.2 feet, clad in loose dark grey T-shirt with faded blue jeans, feet tucked in ancient trainers that had surely seen better times. His shoulder length straight dark brown hair was caught into a semi-ponytail, and on his left ear, glinted a small golden hoop. Lazy-looking dark grey eyes watched the seething girl uncertainly, while he cradled the bass in his lap loosely, ready, willing and able to use it as a shield if Ylena got the bright idea to use one of her trusty darts to vent her rage on him. The instrument already had numerous marks made from surviving similar endeavors. Ylena was scarily good with aiming the damned things, and as a result, Ren got very good in either dodging or intercepting the blasted things with variety of the items on hand. One memorable -time was, when he used a cushion in front of his face, but the dart still pierced it, stopping barely an inch from his right eye. And one of the more humiliating happenstances when she nailed his left butt cheek.

Talk about living dangerously.

"I am sure he has a good reason for being later than usual, Yle. " He placated her. Inside, he couldn't help but feel worried, too. The competition was close - so damn close and they wayward leader was out of touch with them, for the last three days, which was unusual for him, as usually, they practiced day in and day out.

She huffed. "He better damn be." Ylena crossed the arms on her chest, huffing again for a good measure. Both her and Ren had been playing for good half an hour already, and Iori still hasn't appeared. Ooh, when she got that emo turkey in her hands…. She fumed, frowning.

In her silent rage, she overheard the door clicking open.

"Iori, my man, where have you - !" Ren's greeting ended in a yelp, as she reflexively fished out one of her weapons and flicked it at the culprit of her rage, only for a strange guy to snatch it out in the air.

"WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN, YOU BASTARD! I HAVE OTHER THINGS TO DO THAN WAIT FOR YOUR EMO-ASS TO SHOW HERE!" She hollered, incensed, glaring at the wide red eyes looking back at her. "AND WHAT'S WITH YOUR WHITE-ASS HAIR!?"

"Um. Ylena. I think you got a wrong guy here." Ren tried to intervene, blinking as a short, messy-haired, green eyed guy placed himself protectively in front of Iori himself. "And uh, hello."

"I am not the Iori person you speak of. " The white-haired, red-eyed guy looked at the drummer, thoroughly entertained. "But I do commend your throwing skills. My name is Yamata no Orochi, nice to meet you."

"Gods, your parents had to hate you, naming you like that." Ren quipped, blinking at the white-haired guy's glare at his person, Iori's entertained smirk and the green eyed guy face palmed as he groaned with exasperation.

"Was there something I said?"

* * *

Harry was sure someone up here hated him. Or at least made his life for their entertainment. Because now he could clearly see just why was Iori such a whacko. A cussing, dart-throwing female drummer and a bassist with foot-in-the-mouth syndrome. Just _wonderful._

"Soo. You are the dick that caught Iori's attention." Harry wanted to cringe at the girl's language. Molly would have a heyday with using the soap to wash her mouth, but Harry had a hunch it wouldn't have helped by the least. In fact, that would only make the girl cuss worse.

"Yeah." He nodded, ruffling his hair sheepishly. "I am sorry for delaying him, but Mischief got into trouble – "

"Mischief?" Ylena asked, dark eyes narrowing dangerously. Harry wanted to shrink back. Suddenly, Voldemort seemed positively cuddly in comparison with the 5.2 tall girl in front of him. "Our kitten. She got into laundry and we had to rescue her from being thoroughly washed in the washing machine." He threw a small glare at Orochi, who was the culprit for almost washing Mischief in the laundry machine. Although it wasn't his fault, really, because Mischief buried herself in the middle of the fabric, so that it was almost impossible to find her without taking the entire ball of clothes apart. Luckily, Harry had heard Mischief's panicked meowing before the laundry machine really began to run, but that still earned Orochi a very vocal earful on the importance of checking the laundry before getting it into the machine to wash and Mischief got a good long session of cuddling to make her better.

"Oh dear. Of course, the poor darling. " Ylena cooed, her previously sharp face melting into something more affectionate. "You have any pictures of her?" Harry opened his mouth to inform her he didn't, but was interrupted by Iori. "Of course. Here you go." The red-haired fighter threw her his phone, which was greedily snatched out of the air and a moment later, Ylena squealed.

" _Sooo cuute!"_ She grinned at the kitten's picture. "She's such a darling! May I come to visit her?" She looked at Harry with puppy eyes, pouting lip included, and Harry automatically nodded his head, still bewildered at the complete turnaround of her mood. "How did you get her?"

Harry smiled. If she liked kittens, she couldn't be that bad. "Iori gifted her to me. He brought it home one evening and she just stayed."

Ylena stopped and stared. "Wait. Iori gave you her as a gift?" Her eyes were wide with surprise. Harry smiled. "Yeah. It was like housewarming gift."

"You two live _together_?" Ren interrupted them, shocked. "We've searched Iori's old haunt, but if he's living with you, then it's no wonder we haven't found him!" Harry shrugged his shoulders, uncomfortable with being under their scrutiny. "Well. He's a good roommate, and good friend." He looked at the Iori and Orochi talking about something, probably a guitar, what with Iori's gestures to his precious instrument.

The two musicians exchanged an unreadable look. They weren't used to anyone talking about Iori with anything else than lust, fear, hatred or disdain. So it was a shock there was this green-eyed guy, talking as if Iori was his friend - of course he had to be, for them to share their living quarters, but still.

"And that Orochi guy?" Ren motioned at the white-haired spirit. Orochi was clad in his usual getup of white trousers and black trench coat with gray T-shirt, only now the coat was hung on the hook in the wall, exposing his powerful physique. Ren wouldn't want to meet him in the dark, especially because he got the same, if even more powerful vibes of danger from him than he did from Iori. Nope, no siree.

"He's our other friend and tenant. We all live together." Ren's eyebrows shot up at the proclamation. What was that socialize Iori project or something? He knew, only too well, that Iori was a loner, and with a good reason, so seeing Iori in company of not one, but two guys and tolerating it, was a big shock to his system.

"And the house has yet to break down around your ears?" He yelped as Ylena whacked him in the arm. " _Ow,_ Yle, what did I do this time, woman!?" He growled at the girl.

"Revise your sentence; I am sure you could find at least something." She snarkily advised him, before looking back to Harry. "But yeah, he is right. How?"

Harry chuckled. Those two were a comedy duo all on their own. "It's called cohabitation." He snarked back, causing Ylena to bark out a laugh, swiftly steeping on his side and then clap his back, causing him to stumble forward with the force of her hit.

"You aren't half bad for a dick." She proclaimed, giving him a one-armed hug, grinning widely with amusement. "So let's see if that song of yours is worth any damn money!"

"What's with you and dicks, really?"

Ren's question earned him another hit in his arm.

* * *

The first take was… interesting, Harry supposed. The melody was powerful, but it seemed to lack something. And Iori also seemed to think so, looking by his scowling face.

"We need something more." He proclaimed, sighing as he went with his fingers through his hair. Orochi hummed, nodding. "You are singing it all wrong." He remarked, and Iori spun toward him as if bitten by a cobra.

"What did you say?" Iori snarled out, brown eyes flashing with red. Orochi blinked. "I said: You're singing it wrong. Did you become deaf or something?" He sniped back, lazily cleaning his right ear with his pinky.

Iori looked fit to burst and there was heat haze around his hands for a moment before he took a deep breath to calm himself down.

"You're right." He admitted, causing Orochi, Ylena and Ren to stare at him in shock. Harry just blinked, confused. The song was good as it was to him, and he didn't know just why they were thinking it wasn't good enough yet still. "Why don't you try singing it?"

Orochi spluttered. "Are you ma – "He clamped his mouth shut, before trying again. "This one is not well-versed in the art of singing."

"Oi, what's with you and this old-man speak? And if you don't try, you'll never know." Ylena butted in, twirling the drumstick in her right hand idly.

"But I am not!" Orochi insisted, waving his hands in front of him as if to ward their insistence away. Ren tilted his head. "Orochi, if Iori is saying that you should try, then you try. If you bomb it, nobody would know."

"But _he_ would!" Orochi protested, glaring at Iori, indicating the person in question.

"Then you shouldn't have been singing under the shower." Iori deadpanned, causing Orochi to flush with mortification and Harry to eye Orochi with interest, which prompted the spirit to blush harder.

"This is not true." Orochi attempt to regain his dignity fell pathetically short of his goal. In truth, it didn't even reach it, considering Iori's predatory smirk.

"Play time is over." Iori purred and for some reason Orochi felt afraid. _Very_ afraid. He turned his begging eyes to Harry to save him, only for Harry to turn the begging look right back at him, tenfold as devastating as his own.

"Won't you try it? Just once, for me?" Harry's green eyes stared into Orochi's soul, green and clear and warm and really, Harry had never begged him for anything and it would be cruel of Orochi to deny him this small pleasure, even if he humiliated himself in the process.

He could always gift Iori with some very unpleasant surprised for his little stunt, anyway.

Swallowing and willing the blush to disappear, he inhaled. "Alright. But not a word to anyone about this one's singing."

Seeing Harry beam up at him, Orochi felt that this little moment of happiness was worth of the oncoming humiliation.

* * *

"Three, two, one – "

Smiling like a shark, Ylena began to drum, along with Ren strumming the undertone, with Iori leading the rhythm.

Closing his eyes, Orochi inhaled and thought to remember the lyrics, waiting for the moment to sing.

He would bomb it. He knew he would, because it was practically guaranteed. This new-aged singing, this was not his style. And even long ago, he never sang. So why was he now trying to do so, if he would fail miserably anyway?

For Harry.

Swallowing, he opened his mouth and began to sing.

His voice, shaky at first, became stronger with each added note, and Orochi let it go.

* * *

If Iori hadn't been so disciplined, he would have been thunderstruck. He knew that Orochi had a good voice – he had heard him hum and occasionally sing in the bathroom when under the shower, but never, ever would he imagine the snake spirit would have practically made the song alive.

He looked at Harry - his wide, stricken eyes, and messy hair, staring at Orochi like he was a ghost, devil and angel, all rolled in one, unsure of whether to worship or flee from the singing snake entity.

Harry, who had gone through hell to be where he is now. Harry, who died, and came back, only to be betrayed by his beloved. Harry, who was still healing, but gave Iori the chance despite his doubts.

Iori remembered his own personal hell.

Kusanagi Kyo.

He loved the bastard. He had thought him as special - special enough to sacrifice himself for him, and special enough to risk and tell him his feelings – only to find out that he didn't have the snowball's chance in white hot hell for Kyo to even glance in his direction, so preoccupied with his girlfriend he was.

Kyo. His personal hell and eternal vice, his temporary salvation.

So when the chorus hit, he couldn't help himself but join Orochi, wanting to express his love, his resentment, his helplessness, thinking of both Kyo, the merciless sun and Harry, the lonely comet searching for his way home but being eternally alone –

Iori knew how that felt, because he was still sore from Kyo's unconscious rejection of his person, Kyo flaunting his relationship in front of Iori's nose -

 _Oh how I love you  
The pain won't go away  
Oh when I need you  
You're always so far away  
I cry for you  
Leaving myself to blame  
I died for you  
I gave up everything_

Orochi's eyes jerked open, looking at the red-haired guitarist, as if in disbelief that Iori had joined him, not mocking, but truly singing his heart out. Yagami's voice was lower and slightly huskier than his own, but Orochi felt the true emotions hidden within it, the darkness, despair and love and it made the ancient spirit mentally flail a little before he caught himself and continued with the solo part of the song.

* * *

Harry listened to the song, entranced. He hadn't known that Orochi had such a powerful voice, cool, and dignified, but Iori's just about knocked his socks off. Not that Iori had a bad voice, mind you, but Harry had never heard him truly singing, like he was doing it right now. And the emotions in Iori's voice were so true - the agony, the anger, the helplessness that for a moment, Harry had doubted his decision to start a relationship with him. That Kyo guy still meant something to Iori, and Harry felt a bit uneasy, despite Iori's affection to him.

He took a shaky breath. It didn't matter. Because that part of their lives was over and done with and wasn't that why he had written this song in the first place? To purge those emotions plaguing him out of his heart, to flush it clean so that he could begin anew?

' _Hermione…'_

The song wound down and Harry couldn't help but feel a breath of relief escaped his lungs. It was like picking on a yet-unhealed wound's scabs, causing it to bleed anew, raw and sore and ugly.

" _Woow._ That was intense!" Ylena breathed out, her dark eyes shining with excitement as she panted with exertion. Despite the song being moderately paced, it still demanded a fair bit of changes in pace, especially the chorus parts. Ren's sweat-dotted face was beaming too, but both Iori and Orochi were strangely quiet, looking at each other.

"So…" Iori was first to speak, causing Orochi to flinch with surprise. "You _can_ sing."

Red eyed blinked at him, doubtfully, their owner still dumbstruck by his latest experience.

"I'm – " Orochi began, protesting, only to be stopped by Iori again.

"You're the lead singer." His matter-of-fact voice caused Ylena to drop her drumsticks and Ren to spit out the mouthful of water he was imbibing at the moment, causing him to cough and heave.

"What!?" Ren yelped, dark grey eyes wide. "Don't joke, man, you're our leading singer – " He clammed down when Iori glared at him. "Alright, alright, just stop glaring at me like you want to set me on fire!" He frantically waved Iori off, backing away hurriedly.

"But there's still something missing." Iori continued, as if he hadn't just glared at the bassist, thoughtfully strumming at his guitar.

"Rhythm guitar!" Ylena piped up, beaming cheerfully. "It was awesome, but the ensemble felt a bit dull, if you know what I mean, when there was no one riffing it up!"

Harry stared. "Er…" He voiced out, completely confused just what was happening. He knew that Iori had just recruited Orochi into the group, but what was that about the rhythm… guitar?

Orochi eyed Iori warily. He didn't know what that rhythm-whatever was, but it didn't bode anything good for him.

"You will learn rhythm guitar, too." Iori addressed him, brown eyes strangely intense, causing Orochi to swallow the protest on the tip of his tongue down, because for some reason, Iori was much more intimidating than even when he was at his very worst. That intensity, of being hunted like a small mouse by the snake… Orochi didn't like it.

"But I never –" He tried to protest, looking around for someone to help him to escape Iori's insane plans he had become so suddenly an integral part of.

"Iori. What if he doesn't want to do it?" Harry's soft voice of reason made Orochi almost collapse with relief. He smiled at the green-eyed teen gratefully, his hopes for escaping this whole unreasonable affair rising again.

Iori blinked. "He doesn't want to do it?" He blinked again. Orochi felt a wave of irritation hit his gut and he forcibly clamped down on his powers, else he begin to hover in the air again and just fry the Yagami heir into cinders.

"You didn't ask me. You just assumed I would do as you wished of me." His words came out snappier that he would have liked them to, with a hissy undertone that indicated just how close he was to losing his temper. "This one is not your servant to do your bidding!" He snarled, stomping to the door, yanking them open and then slamming them behind him.

* * *

Harry winced at the door slamming shut. "Now you've done it." He glared at Iori, trying to have no pity for the fighter who was right now looking like a lost little kitten.

"But – " Iori tried to protest, only to hurriedly snatch a drumstick aimed at his head from the air, glaring back at the culprit.

"No. You bombed it." Ylena huffed, glaring at Iori, not afraid of his pissed-off glare. She twirled the remaining drumstick in her left hand expertly, the white and black colors of the stick twisting into concentric circle with the speed it was being twirled around her fingers. She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I think we all went ahead too fast. While I agree that Orochi-chan sounds amazing, and your duet was doubly so, that still doesn't mean you have right to force him to be a part of our little gang."

Iori deflated. "You're right. " He admitted as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. "But you know me how I get when it concerns music… and this could be our big break."

"Man, if that big break means that this pissy dude would have a go at my bones like that, that's a no go from my side." Ren's frank comment prompted Harry to let out a startled laugh. "I am just as fired up as you are to keep Nanakase off our tails, but that ain't the way." The previously faint accent in his voice became stronger, causing Harry to strain to understand the usually laid-back bassist.

Harry shook his head, bemused. They sure were serious about competing. He knew Iori was passionate about that project of his – the guy had haunted him just because one itty bitty scrap of paper, but it was both nice and scary to see his two bandmates joining the fray.

"And if we switched out the arrangement?" Ylena asked, causing Iori to grimace. "Not really ideal and we would be short on time to rehearse everything well enough in order to compete." And that sparked a whole new debate, allowing Harry to sneak out of the room.

* * *

Orochi glared at the snowed out plains and trees in front of him.

The late evening was silent, even doubly so in the abandoned apartment complex where he was currently situated, leaning on the stone fence as his gaze wandered to the distance aimlessly as he fumed about the happenings of the last five minutes.

He shivered with the chill, acutely feeling it seeping into his bones, only to startle when something warm covered his shoulders, melting the accumulated cold on his skin away.

"If you so wanted to go to cool off your head, at least take along something to keep you warm next time." Harry's grumpy voice floated to his ears, prompting him to turn his head to the green eyed wizard.

"Harry? What are you doing here?" He asked, blinking with confusion as to why would Harry follow him outside.

His question earned him a small bonk on his shoulder. "Ensuring you doesn't get a cold, that's what. And to say I am sorry for pressing you into singing when you didn't want to." Orochi watched as Harry ducked his head embarrassed, the pink coating his cheeks in a guilty blush. Orochi's heart just about melted from the cuteness the form of his … master, he supposed.

Harry would have- and had - vehemently opposed the title, but with Orochi entering the familiar bond it was essentially what he was now. The ceremony had been relatively simple – Harry had made a collar from the strange materials Luna had sent him, and there was a short ceremony of Harry asking Orochi if he would consent to be his familiar – that wasn't really needed, but his Little One insisted on covering all bases. And when the collar clicked shut, Orochi felt warmth, like he was sunning in the best sunspot ever, with his belly and heart full and wanting for nothing but to be surrounded by that warmth forever and ever. He felt Harry's concern for his person, his affection and a little bit of his fear too, like a small itch he wasn't able to scratch on his back, but he sent back a torrent of _acceptance/happiness/contentment/reassurance_ , causing the itch to jerk back and vanish under the onslaught, leaving both of them breathless and grinning at each other like fools they were, much to Iori's consternation.

He felt a wave of affection flood him anew at the sight of his Little One. So considerate of his well-being! "It was my decision to sing, Little One," he hummed, his lips involuntarily tilting up into a small smile. Harry shook his head stubbornly, giving him a little glare. "Because I asked you too and – "

He was silenced by Orochi's pointer finger on his lips and a small glare on his stern face. "Don't." Orochi breathed out, the warm air from his mouth curling around his face like smoke. "You couldn't have known that your mate would go so far in search of perfection." Harry made a grimace at the last word, but nodded as his shoulders relaxed from their hunched position. "I wanted to understand you. You wrote this song, yes? It's a part of you."

Orochi watched those green eyes widen with surprise, and the almost faded blush coming back on Harry's cheeks with force. "Eh?" Harry managed to squeak out embarrassed and awkward and really, Orochi may now have some understanding what 'dying of cuteness' actually meant. "But it's – "

"It's a part of you." Orochi repeated, frowning. "You need not to be ashamed of it." Harry shook his head wildly, dislodging Orochi's finger in process, trying to deny the spirit's words, but Orochi felt it. Underneath all that embarrassment, fear and want to bold, there was surprise, as if Harry couldn't believe that someone actually wanted to understand him, and for a moment, Orochi felt an irrational anger at the fleshbags that managed to harm his master's self-esteem so badly, especially one female in particular. Quickly squashing the feeling of ire down, he focused on the silver of happiness and gratitude he had unearthed under the mass of negative emotions. Tiny, really, but shining all the more for it, even if their light was very feeble, as if afraid to be shunned if they dared to shine any stronger. He butted his forehead against Harry's, his reptilian red eyes looking into the green ones of his wizard seriously. "It's also honest. Like you are." He wrapped his arms around Harry's waist, preempting any chance on Harry's part to flee from him and causing Harry to place his hands on his chest, causing his heart to jump at the contact. "It wasn't so bad, either. I liked singing it."

A tiny duck of the white-haired head, and their lips connected in a small, warm kiss, lips resting against lips for a couple of long moments before Orochi let it go and raised his head, kissing the now very flustered wizard on the forehead, exactly on the faded lightning bolt scar residing here.

"You really liked it?" Harry's voice was positively tiny in the cold-infused air between them. Orochi gave him a firm nod. "Of course. Though if I ever meet the female that rejected your mating offer, I shall not be lenient toward her." Harry's jaw dropped in horror at the spirit's declaration. "You wouldn't!"

Orochi tilted his head upward, his nose twitching as a small snowflake landed on the tip of it, melting under the warmth. "Hmm. You're right. She caused us to meet, so she deserves some merit for her foolish decision." That earned him an exasperated groan and another bonk of Harry's loosely clenched fist on his chest, more like a tap than an actual bonk, making him smirk as he tipped his head down as to look into those unforgettable emerald orbs.

* * *

Harry didn't know what to do anymore. The old snake was way too suave for his own good. When he had come out, he had expected to be the one to console Orochi, but instead, the tables had been turned on him, what with Orochi reassuring him that he didn't mind and that his song, scrappy as it was, was actually good. His lips were still feeling the heat of Orochi's own pressing against them and really, it should be considered cheating, Orochi sneaking the kisses from him like he did, because Harry was in a relationship with Orochi, but somehow, Orochi had the bad habit of stealing his kisses too - more like pecks and it wasn't fair it felt so good - !

But looking at Orochi's face, so pale and haloed with his white hair the color of the newly fallen snow, slender black eyebrows and reptilian red eyes looking down at him, a small flush on his cheek, Harry couldn't help but think him of an angel. He knew, it was an irrational likeness, because Orochi was by no means an angel, but almost two millennia old spirit who could hold grudges like no one and if he decided to crush Harry, then the green-eyed wizard would be unable to stop him. He felt both humble and grateful that this being deemed him worthy of his relationship, even if at beginning, hadn't seemed so.

" _Thank you."_ The phrase slipped from his lips, unbidden and slick, causing those red eyes to widen and slit pupils to enlarge at the sound. Harry's own eyes widened at the spirit's reaction as he slapped his hand across his mouth, mentally cursing himself for slipping back into the Parseltongue. Just look what had happened the last time he used in Orochi's presence - he got two for one special, concerning the roommates –

The strong arms around him tightened. _"Don't mention it."_ Orochi husked back, before pausing. _"Actually, mention it as often as you wish - it would be much appreciated."_ Harry wanted to find a good hard surface to bang his head against. Stupid Orochi. He seriously wanted Harry to suffer death from embarrassment, didn't he? Instead, he allowed his head to thunk against the strong chest in front of him. "You're mean and I don't like you anymore." He grumbled, pouting at Orochi's bark of laughter, hiding a smile when Orochi affectionately nuzzled his hair.

* * *

Hidden in the half-darkness, the redheaded fighter smiled at the couple, ignoring the small sting of jealously in his chest. That damned snake was way too suave for his tastes, but Iori supposed he deserved it for his less than polite behavior earlier. Silently, he turned around and vanished in the darkness, giving not even an inkling that he had ever been there, witnessing the duo's little heart-to-heart.

* * *

 _ **/To Be Continued/**_


	18. Chapter 18

_HOW I LOVE YOU_

* * *

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own _Harry Potter_ or _King of Fighters_ or the song used.

 _ **Shout Out:**_ I didn't think I would be writing so soon after my writing marathon of a beast _**I Hope You Dance**_ (If you love _Yuri! On Ice_ and are a fan of _Pacific Rim_ , yes, this one is for you.), but here I am. _ **Almonda**_ , thank you for your kind words. Hope you like this one, too. _**R.A Cross**_ , thank you, hope you enjoyed _**Breath Of Life**_ too. _**ShizuBabe**_ – your wish is granted. But maybe you will bawl a little. _**Firehedgehog**_ \- no, not in this story. Nothing against Mpreg otherwise. Orochi is still Harry's familiar so there are boundaries. _**Lady Kaiki,**_ thank you, and here you go!

 _ **Warnings:**_ _**AU-verse, SLASH**_ , Iori has his own share of problems, and this chapter is solely Iori's. Prepare the hankies!

* * *

The snow was drifting on the ground slowly, gracefully, like in some kind of a choreographed snowflake-filled ballet, with only the faintest of traffic sounds as the accompaniment.

It was the sight that was both ordinary and yet not - ordinary in a sense Iori could imagine the snowflakes - if he only looked up at the sky, like the stars he was passing through on his way up, up and up, ever ascending into the darkening sky. Yet, the snow had come too soon - they were supposed to have at least one more week of a good weather - good in a sense of not having any snow, that is, but as usual, nature didn't heed people's expectations, shaking its tiny pieces of iced-over lace on the ground, covering it in white and stillness.

The room he was standing in was warm, warm enough to have him clad only in skin tight black sweater and worn out blue jeans trousers. Nothing complicated like his show-off outfits for KoF yet also not traditional _hakama_ of his own family. Because here, he was just Iori, just one more person watching the magic of nature playing over the glass screen that separated the warmth of the house from the cold slinking around the corners of the buildings and licking the streets with wind's invisible, yet icy tongue rasping over people's cheeks and frosting across the surfaces, be they metal, wood or fabric.

He should have felt grateful, what with being here - the place was clean, and warm, unlike his little rat hole of misery back there. He should have felt grateful that he found someone to share all this with - his music, the moments of happiness and frustration, the food and his innermost thoughts. He should have felt content that he was finally moving on from his unreasonable affection toward Kusanagi.

And he was. Really, he was. Grateful, that is. But somehow, he couldn't bring himself to be truly happy. He was so close to his dreams - only one more step ahead, and he – along with _Rickenbacker_ \- would have the means to seize the laurels of the competition he had entered them in.

They had the song. They had the music - powerful, yet poignant. But of course, they failed to obtain their lead singer.

Much as he loathed admitting, Iori recognized Orochi as a good fit in that sense. Too good one, actually. Orochi's voice held that kind of presence - otherworldly, not exactly ethereal, but unusual enough to grasp the listener's attention, not letting it go until the last note sounded out. He still shivered when he thought how good their duet had sounded. He felt elated - Orochi could've learned to play the rhythm guitar, which was not exactly hard, considering that he as kind of natural at those things and then –

But of course, he, once again had gone ahead, assuming that people wanted the same as him. So Orochi's rejection came as a kind of shock to him, an unexpected and thus unprepared for dissmisal.

But that wasn't the worst. The worst was, when Harry had followed Orochi out, leaving Iori to be chewed out by Ylena. Not that he needed that particular chew-out, thank you, even if Ylena thought otherwise.

That had left him standing alone, witnessing Harry's and Orochi's little nuzzle-fest, feeling cold and bereft - a first in a long time. The sensation was unpleasant, doubly so, when he knew that Harry wouldn't do something as underhanded as leaving him alone for Orochi, but he couldn't help but doubt his sincerity.

It wasn't Harry's fault, not really, but more of Iori's experiences with people overall. Being a Yagami heir wasn't a picnic - there was the training, the harsh indoctrination and the obligations to the Yagami house. It was unfortunate, that he was the only heir of the Yagami House, not having a sibling or anyone close to him to help him to bear the burden of the Orochi curse coursing through his veins. It still galled at him that Harry had accepted the one ho tormented him for so long as his familiar.

It wasn't fair. If Harry ever decided to go, leaving Iori, Orochi was guaranteed a place on his side, no matter what. And Iori - well, his place beside Harry wasn't nearly as ensured as that of the old crafty snake's.

"Iori?" Harry's voice whispered in the room, causing the red-haired fighter to blink when he tried to disentangle himself from the depressing thoughts crowding him his head.

"Harry? What are you doing here, so late at night?" He whispered back, his eyes looking for the small silhouette hiding in the darkness. They didn't have any light, courtesy of the electricity malfunction early in the evening and unavailability of the services to take care of it.

"I couldn't sleep." Harry's voice was equally as hushed, the wizard covering a small yawn trying to escape his mouth with his hand as he padded toward Iori. "Why aren't you asleep yet?" He murmured, clumsily navigating between the furniture placed between them by feeling its edges and texture.

Finally, he closed the distance between them, and Iori automatically brought him to his chest, enjoying bed-soaked warmth of his skin. "I thought you would be with Orochi." He muttered, a faintly jealous undertone lining his words. He felt Harry shrug. "Oh, I left him behind in my bed. For some reason, he complained his own bed being too cold."

Iori's eyebrow twitched. _'That sneaky serpentine bastard.'_ He growled in his thoughts, but outside, he gave a curt nod, even if Harry couldn't see him. "Of course." He responded, his voice dry. "Something about him being a snake?"

"Yes. How did you know?" Harry sounded positively amazed, and Iori fought not to groan or face palm. He didn't know if Harry was truly that naïve or just playing with him. But knowing Harry, he was stupidly innocent in those matters and Orochi, bastard as he was, took the advantage of it to cuddle against Harry.

Honestly, Iori couldn't blame him - but he was distantly peeved that he didn't get the same idea. He sighed. Why did he have to fall for the most oblivious - aside Kusanagi - guy on the Earth, really?

Well. Because…Harry was kind, fiery, interesting and really, Iori kind of didn't have a choice in the matter because Harry was just so amazing. He knew he sounded like a lovesick guy - hell, he _was_ a lovesick guy, but that was just another fact of life.

He had fallen, and fallen hard. Letting out a tiny snort, he bent his head to press a small kiss on Harry's nose, eliciting a noise of confusion out of his prey. "Because you just can't help yourself from being seduced by his wide hatchling eyes. It's kind of adorable, really." He couldn't help but tease the wizard, smirking at the offended squawk escaping Harry's mouth.

" _Kind of adorable,_ he says." He heard Harry grumble at his chest, and Iori shouldn't have to find it amusing and Harry all too lovable for his grumblings, but for some strange reason, he did. The feeling squeezed his heard, warm and soft and yet it felt like his heart was in a vice-like grip, never to be let go again and why didn't Iori mind it as he should have?

"Iori? You still haven't answered my question." Harry gently nudged him, and Iori sobered.

"Too much thoughts." He reluctantly got out, focusing his gaze outside again. Not that it helped him any, as he felt the weight of Harry's gaze on his person, and he barely kept from squirming. "Okay." Harry nodded, causing Iori to breath with both relief and disappointment. "I won't bug you if you don't want to talk." He said before settling against Iori's body a little bit more comfortably, his face cast in dark sepia colors against the white reflection of the snow.

"Why are you so understanding?" Iori suddenly blurted out. Immediately, he wanted to whack himself for his choice of the words, but really, it beggared his belief that he should end with a person that was so understanding of his needs.

"I am not. No, really." Harry huffed out, half in amusement, before he sobered. "When I lost my godfather, there were people constantly bugging me about how I felt, that my feeling were alright and everything else. It kind of got on my nerves, even if I knew they thought well. So I am trying to give you some space and hope you will come to me when you will be ready." He turned with his back against his chest so that both of them were looking out of the window. "I am trying to not be annoying." He admitted, his voice small and surprisingly fragile for such a fiery and strong person.

"You're not." Even Iori was surprised by his passionate declaration. Even more so, he meant it. He squeezed Harry's waist reassuringly. "It's not you, it's me." He winced at the overused phrase, feeling Harry's body stiffen against his own in anticipation of hurt.

"It's nothing bad, I swear!" He added hurriedly. "And I am definitely not breaking up with you!" Harry made the oddest noise, something between an indignant growl and a scoff, and his elbow found it's purchase in Iori's stomach, causing him to reflexively grunt with the impact.

" are kind of blabbing here." Harry huffed, exasperated. "I am not going anywhere."

"But you _could_ go anywhere if the things don't work between us. Along with that snake." Iori was not proud of how petulant sounded right then. He blamed it on Harry. Harry made him blurt out his innermost thoughts and secrets like it was out of style. He already embarrassed himself enough what with his declaration when he sneaked out into his bed, but this was a whole new level for him. At least last time Harry was asleep, but with him being awake now, Iori didn't have any alibi for his shameful behavior.

"And you could also leave me anytime." Harry's voice was surprisingly even. "I saw how you looked at that Kusanagi guy." Iori heard him swallow, the sound surprisingly loud in the still room. "You are still not over him, are you?" He opened his mouth to protest, because _no, this wasn't true, it was just –_

"But I don't have any ground to accuse you here. We both knew we had been burned badly when we agreed to try this… relationship." Harry's voice was soft, almost resigned. "You have so much going for you - you are attractive, honest, funny, protective, you play guitar - and I am just some random guy who doodled on a piece of napkin you've picked up by pure chance. Honestly, every day I am surprised what are you still doing here with me instead with someone who could give you so much more than I."

"But I want you." Iori finally managed to get out, his throat clogged with ball of feeling so the words rolled out more than a little bit thick. "And when I saw you being together with Orochi, it just kind of hit me –"

"He did say that when we mate, to keep it away from him." Harry interrupted him, both exasperated and mortally embarrassed to repeat something the old snake spirit hinted at. Unwittingly, Iori gaped at the unexpected _non sequitur,_ feeling his cheeks blush when he comprehended its meaning. _"Harry!"_ He choked out. This little green eyed minx would be the death of him, seriously!

" _Iori!"_ Harry mimicked him, his voice just as scandalized, only with an undertone of laughter. "But seriously. What would it take for you to be convinced that I am not getting anywhere?"

Well, there was the crux of the matter. Iori fidgeted. He knew what he wanted, but what would Harry think…?

"Umm… Nothing!" He said quickly, only to mentally cringe at the obvious tell. No way would Harry miss that. Not when he had been living with Iori for so long.

"Out with it, Iori." Harry snapped, but not unkindly.

" _ **Iwanttobecollaredbyyou!"**_ Iori burst out, the words echoing in the room and filling the space between them.

 _Oh god. Now he had definitely done it._

 _No way Harry would want to be with a freak like him now._

Because _gods_ , who the fuck asked to be collared just to be reassured they won't be left behind, really?

Iori Yagami, that's who.

If that wasn't the sign just how screwed up his upbringing was, Iori would eat his duster coat.

"Run that by me again?" Harry's perplexed voice dragged the red-haired fighter out of his self-imposed misery for a moment.

"I want to be – " Iori coughed out – "- Collared by you." He was sure his ears were practically burning at the moment with the shame, hot as they felt.

"You want to be collared? Really?" Thankfully, Harry's voice wasn't mocking, but kind of curious and, dare Iori think, compassionate.

He nodded mutely, before remembering that Harry couldn't see him, what with the darkness and all. So he gave a cough and mumbled out a quick yes.

"Iori. I don't mind. But could you tell me why are you wearing collars almost all the time?" Harry coaxed him, gently leading him toward the couch and pressing him down to sit. When Iori complied, he also sat down, curling against Iori like some kind of a humanized cat. Something within Iori relaxed at the gesture, causing his breath to lighten from its previously constrained actions.

" I – " Iori paused to lick his lips. It was kind of hard to explain it, and at once, easy.

"I – This ... " He tried, furrowing his eyebrows with frustration when the words failed to come out. "You know my reputation as a _Riot of Blood?"_

Harry shifted against him, and Iori felt a small, calloused hand sneak into his own. "No. I can't say I do. I am just a _gaijin_ , remember?"

Iori sighed. "You know my line had been cursed by Orochi." He tried again, his mouth sour when he spoke the snake spirit's name.

"Yes." Harry mumbled. "Still not getting it, though."

Iori didn't know whether to curse, laugh or cry. Harry was so dense he wasn't sure even diamond would get through him. But as he said, he was a _gaijin_ , so he didn't exactly know the last happenings in the KoF.

"I wear the collar to remind me to be constantly alert." He explained his words frank and void of emotion. "If I am angry, the curse acts and there's greater chance of me using the cursed flames. This also shortens my life span."

"Hmm." Harry hummed, thoughtful. "But there's more, isn't it?" Iori nodded, feeling miserable at what he would reveal to his soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend now.

"In the tournament, before we sealed Orochi, I couldn't suppress his powers entirely, entering the state known as Riot of Blood." Iori admitted quietly, his words slow and heavy. "Basically, I was a berserker, not recognizing right from wrong, and I even killed my teammates. _Brutally."_ He hissed out, remembering the horror-struck faces of his victims, stuck in eternal agony, their eyes staring at him with the glaze of death veiling their pupils. "When Orochi attacked Kusanagi and Chizuru, I only had enough of presence to hold him back for long enough for the Kusanagi to deal the crippling blow that allowed Chizuru to reseal him - only he got the last laugh when he lashed out, and wounding her, causing the seal to be weaker than usual."

The silence slid between them like molasses, slow and thick and uncomfortable.

"I am not safe, even if I wish it to be. There's a danger I could snap at any time, and if the provocation is great enough – " Iori swallowed. "But with you, your powers, and the collar, I could be better. Less of a hazard to be around, I mean."

Harry was quiet. Iori began to lose hope. Who would want such a fuck up like him, anyway? A murderer in all but a name?

Suddenly, Harry moved, and Iori's heart sank, only to jump with both fright and startled hope when slender arms encircled his neck and Harry's scent enveloping him within its inviting aroma.

"I was hoping you would say you wanted collar because it would remind you of me, you know." Harry's breath whispered into his ear, the warmth of it causing Iori shudder in response as he cautiously wound his arms around his waist.

Something hot welled in his eyes, hot and stingy and liquid, and Iori had to blink, but his eyesight was already blurring and his nose detected the sharp saline tang of tears even before they began their trek down his face.

"S-So you would? C-Collar me, I mean?" He didn't mean to stutter, honestly he didn't but unloading his dark past, and being afraid, so afraid and resigned that Harry would push him away and go back to Orochi - His chest hitched at the mere memory of the agony lived through in those past few moments.

"If you want me to, I will." Harry's voice was, surprisingly, equally as wrecked. "B-Besides, Luna sent enough of materials for both my Protector and my Ignis." He gave out a wet chuckle. "I suppose she already knew you would be _my_ fire, my _Ignis_."

Bending his head, Iori found that it was surprisingly easy to cry in the semi-darkness of their living room, with Harry to shield him within his embrace, hiding him from his misery and the rest of the world.

Outside of the apartment, the snow kept drifting on the ground, trees and buildings, covering the surface in the gentle white cover, soothing their hurts for at least a little while.

* * *

 _ **/To Be Continued/**_


	19. Chapter 19

_HOW I LOVE YOU_

* * *

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own _Harry Potter_ or _King of Fighters_ or the song used.

 _ **Shout Out:**_ Well. The story is slowly nearing its end, and as such, I am both a little bit disappointed and amused. Disappointed because the story is petering off, and amused at the character's little quirks vying themselves through the story. Last chapter was an exercise in writing of one POV only, without any intermissions, so to speak, so Iori got his chance. Now, it's Orochi's turn, only, it changed into Kyo's and Iori's POV of all things in the middle. _**R.A Cross**_ , thank you, and hope you enjoy this one, too. _ **Firehedgehog**_ , this one is for you, because Iori really likens on a hedgehog in this one. All sofr and gooey on the underside, but poke him, and you have a veritable prickly bastard right back. _**Lady Kaiki,**_ thank you!

 _ **Warnings:**_ _**AU-verse, SLASH**_ , Orochi's musings and Iori and Kyo have a tiny kerfuffle.

* * *

The collar was simple. To anyone else it would seem that the collar hadn't changed at all, but to Orochi, the difference was staggering. The soft, velvety black of the collar and the silver ivory of the small moon pendant hanging from the stripe of pure blackness was enshrouded in magical energy so strong, that in ordinary circumstances, it would've made the snake spirit ungracefully sneeze with its insistent, in-your-face thrum through the construct Iori was now contently wearing around his neck. Sometimes, Orochi wondered if Iori knew that he was wearing the magical equivalent of an atomic bomb on his body, but he refrained from mentioning it. He was not any better, what with his own collar coiling around his throat.

He didn't know who this Luna person was, but he would be careful to not anger her - because anyone who had the knowledge and resources to help to bind him of all people to the mortal plane surely wasn't without certain defenses if someone happened to agitate them.

He thoughtfully strummed the guitar Harry had gotten to him on his insistence, feeling it thrum and sing against his stomach with a melodious purr of a big cat with silvery undertones. Three more days to the competition.

Three more days to get used to the instrument - not that it was hard to play it, but Iori was kind of perfectionist and Orochi wouldn't have his performance be called sub-par either, especially when it was Harry's song they were presenting. He was still on loggerheads with Ylena, but it was mostly because the drummer girl didn't pick words when concerning him or his way of playing or… everything, really.

Orochi sighed. Humans… Even as old as he was, he still didn't understand them. Maybe it was because he was more or less always at odds with them, ever since they began polluting Earth more efficiently. For such fragile bugs, they were like virus - persistent, always popping up when they weren't wanted and both simple-minded and confusingly complex enough to give him headaches when he tried to comprehend their dichotomy. He still wanted to squish them out of existence, but humans were frustratingly similar to cockroaches - even when you thought you exterminated them to their last member, there was another underneath the smelling, rotting heaps of their corpses - small, weak but _here_ and as Orochi's misfortune would have it, destined to grow up and breed, thus beginning the cycle of destruction anew.

Oh, he didn't dispute Harry's view that people could be good, oh no. It was just, they were more inclined to show bad sides of themselves when they were secure enough in their knowledge that they were semi-undisputable top of the chain, so to speak. Their 'civilizations' made Orochi sick - for they were built on blood, death and destruction, no matter how pretty and organic and whatever else they were labeled as. Sometimes, he felt a longing for those simpler, older times, when people had been aware of the magic and the thin line of life they were walking on in regards of nature. Those were the times when people knew and respected Orochi and magic-wielding beings and the magic overall.

Those were good times, only interspersed with an occasional upheaval in the natural order, when some or other intrepid - or just greedy – human fleshbag got inspired enough to haul itself into the realm of magic for long enough to make a difference for its weaker compatriots - usually in the form of sowing destruction or even extinction of the magical species. Humankind was, for all it was blessed with potential to create great things, also cursed with short lifespan and loss of memory of their collective accomplishments, both successful or not. The true history of the world was buried underneath legends, myths stories and poems, thought to be fake, just a passing amusement for the children and grown-ups when they had some free time to relax.

His fingers strummed the chords effortlessly, almost whimsically as he pondered the subject. It was a shame, really. No respect for the ones stronger than them, and Orochi couldn't help but be reluctantly amazed that such weak species triumphed again and again, even when they were on the verge of extinction. He would have admired them, if it weren't for their propensity for violence.

The Little One was an exception. Not a solitary one, if he heeded Little One's words, but to Orochi, it didn't matter. Little One was Little One - what mattered, was their mutual understanding of each other and that Little One would be a good company to Orochi for a long time to come. Orochi had felt bad for denying his Little One the eternal rest with his beloved family, but even he, a snake spirit, wasn't immune to the poison of loneliness. So when he had seen his chance - Orochi had seized it as if it were his very life on the verge of being extinguished.

Did he regret it? No. Was he frustrated? Very. Entertained? Of course. Lonely? Not in the least.

Loved?

Orochi smiled, his red eyes softening as he thought of his Little One.

Absolutely.

* * *

Kusanagi Kyo was a very concerned citizen.

No, really. He was.

That evening, when Shingo came back, apologizing for his lack of not being able to secure Kyo's favorite brand of meat, and mostly, not being able to defeat Mizuchi, Kyo knew something was afoot, he just didn't know what.

Because as far as he knew, Mizuchi was dead and buried and his clone - if it was clone - behaved completely different from the braggart in question. Calm. Cold. Archaic way of speaking. And of course, the use of electricity. Kyo had to suppress a snicker at the memory of Shingo's sooty form and porcupine hairstyle, forcing himself to think seriously once again.

So now they had another clone running around, one with the powers of electricity, and boy, was that an annoying power to fight against. He involuntarily grimaced when he remembered his fights against Benimaru. That was a very messy and painful affairs, and Kyo was honest enough to admit that he won that one due pure dumb luck. And now, this Mizuchi-clone also had powers over it - the only question was, to what degree. If he was weaker or equal to Beminaru, Kyo was more or less confident to win their fight. But if he was on the level comparable with Orochi - then Kyo would be deader than dead. Maybe it would be good idea to visit Iori and wheedle that Yagami bastard into helping him to do away with the annoyance - of course, that is, if Iori wasn't too busy with his newest, green-eyed paramour.

Kyo still shivered at the memories of witnessing Iori practically cuddling the shorter male on the ice rink. No, thank you.

But for the good of the world, he would just suck up his tender sensibilities, sacrifice his innocence - because as far as he was Kyo concerned, Iori was a monk forever, thank you – and brave the visit to his fiery rival.

See? He was good, brave, a picture of saint, really, and he deserved some nookie time with his girlfriend who was once again writing something on her computer and giggling every once in a while.

Kyo had asked her what he was writing, but from her glare, and the ominous vibes emanating from her, concluded that it would be better for his continued survival to not poke this particular subject again. Or, like, ever.

(Wise decision on his part, because one lovely Yuki was a die-hard fan/shipper of Iori with the Green Eyes.)

* * *

Iori's day was going well. He was happy, what with wearing a new collar, that made him feel Harry's strange energy imbedded within it, making Iori feel like being in one of Harry's warm, soft hugs. This made him calm and less prone to violence, be that verbal or otherwise. He wanted to shout from the highest roof what had happened - that he was Harry's and Harry was his, but instead, he tucked the warmth in his heart, humming softly when he was walking out of the store with his selection of the goods for today's lunch.

The cold was nipping his nose and the wind ruffled his hair, tucking some snowflakes among the red strands, so very noticeable among the white, gray and black surroundings, interspersed with the vivid colors of the display windows.

" _Iori!_ Heyy, Iori! Wait up a bit, will you!" Iori's good mood instantly soured when he heard the annoying voice of the only and one Kusanagi.

What the fuck did Kusanagi want _now_ of all times?

Kusanagi reached him, and Iori gave him a cursory glance. Kyo was clad in dark blue, a little bit faded jeans trousers paired with tight white jacket with multiple pockets hugging his torso and arms. Curiously, he didn't have his ever-present bandanna, but he had on his black finger-less gloves, causing Iori to imperceptibly tense in anticipation of a brawl. Kyo's dark hair was a little bit messy, eyes wide and cheeks flushed with cold when he stopped beside Iori, brown shoes causing the crisp snow beneath his soles to grind and squeak.

"You are very hard to get a hold of, Iori." Kyo huffed, glaring at him. Iori eyed him back, unimpressed. He waited for that feeling of hate and love, waiting for it to clench around his heart like a vice and activate the poison that was Orochi's curse to flow through his veins again, but to his inner surprise, aside of his feeling of irritation, there wasn't anything else. It surprised him enough to allow Kyo, however unintentionally, to grab him for his shoulder and start to drag him to the nearby coffee pub.

"What the hell are you _doing?"_ Iori's voice was lethally soft, a purr that boded nothing well for his adversary as he slapped Kyo's hand off his shoulder, causing both of them to stop.

"I need your help." Kyo kind of blurted out, his eyes wide and taken aback at Iori's actions, as if he couldn't comprehend than anyone would want to decline his invitation to his heroic crusade.

Iori stared. Well, that was new _. "My_ help?" He asked, incredulous. "Kusanagi, are you _drunk?"_ Because there was no way that Kyo fucking Kusanagi voluntarily requested Iori's help of all people.

Kusanagi scowled. "Yes, yours!" He snapped, blushing as he crossed his arms on his chest. Once upon a time, Iori would find him and this pose cute, but right now, Kusanagi was an obstacle on his way home to Harry and that wouldn't do. "And no, I am not!"

"Go ask one of your sycophantic little worms you call friends. I don't have any business with you." Iori snapped back, moving forward as he aimed to walk around Kyo to return to his track.

"Hey! No need to insult my friends!" Kyo growled, as he harshly put his palm on the middle of Iori's chest. "I asked you because there's another Mizuchi-like experiment on the loose, and this one plays with electricity."

 _Oh._ Oh. _Oooh._ Iori had to hide a smirk twitching to slither on his face. He so knew who this was about. Seems that Kyo's little disciple finally told the master about his electrifying encounter of a certain snake spirit. "Then ask that static guy of yours. I do recall he had some knowledge of dealing with electricity." He hummed nonchalantly as he absent-mindedly swatted Kyo's hand down, only for Kyo's fingers to bunch on the fabric, refusing to be moved and causing Iori to glare at the culprit.

"I can't." Kyo's frank answer stilled him. "The guy is more powerful than Benimaru, what with him to cause Shingo pain by mere touch. He is probably even stronger, maybe in league with Orochi." Kyo told him, his face serious and eyes intent, begging him to agree to the ordeal.

"So? Go to Chizuru. The two of you should be enough to defeat him." Iori now had way too much fun on Kyo's expense. Kyo flushed with anger and embarrassment, jaw clenching as not to explode out with expletives he so dearly wanted to address Iori with.

"You - " Kyo paused as he looked at the red-haired fighter. "You don't want to fight him?" His voice was tight with disbelief and accusations.

Iori tilted his head. The warmth around his throat spiked a little, but then, the familiar, comfortable fuzziness was back. It was strange, this calmness. Not that his mind was fuzzy, but he didn't feel a need for violence. He pushed Kyo's now unresisting hand down seeing it fall beside the dark haired man limply as if in disbelief of his behavior.

"No, I don't." His answer was frank.

"But the world could be in danger!" Kyo insisted, his glare taking it up a notch. "And your little lover would be the – "

He coughed as Iori's fist buried itself into his stomach, the blow so hard and fast that he couldn't help but drop on the knees, wheezing with the pain and lack of the air. Solar plexus hits were always a bitch to weather through.

"Stay the _fuck_ out of my relationship." Iori snarled at him. "And don't you _ever_ dare to bring Harry in your sick affairs."

With that, he stepped forward, passing the still wheezing Kusanagi heir and stomped back home, incensed at Kyo's attempt to strong-arm him into the cooperation against Orochi, people parting in front of him like human shaped gray and black sea.

* * *

 _ **/To Be Continued/**_


	20. Chapter 20

_HOW I LOVE YOU_

* * *

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ I don't own Harry Potter or King of Fighters or their characters. This story, however, is mine.

 _ **Shout Out:**_ Well. The Christmas is nearing faster than ever in my opinion, but I did manage to get some time to type out this lil' beauty. ** _Lady Kaiki_ ** and _**R.A Cross,**_ thanks! _**Almonda**_ , yeah, the last scene in supermarket was an inspiration for the Kyo one in the previous chapter. _**ruinedsandwich**_ – KoF is a great-grandpa of the fighting games, so to speak. Way before _Quake_ , _Overwatch_ , and any others, so if you are interested in game playing, give it a go. It's not exactly modern, but it has its own surprises. _**Arfa**_ , yeah, miracles happen, this is new update!

 _ **Warnings:**_ AU-verse, SLASH, side-effects from familiar bonding. Iori also compliments Orochi. No, seriously.

* * *

Looking up from his book, Harry frowned when he heard completely unexpected slam of the front door being open and shut.

Usually, Iori wasn't such a noise maker – with exception of that kitchen disaster and lighting water on fire - Harry still haven't found out just how exactly did Iori do that particular feat, but well. But if there was any person who could rile one and only Yagami heir to near apoplexy (Orochi didn't count at the moment), it would be Kusanagi Kyo.

"Really. What did those two do now?" Exasperated, and a little bit concerned, Harry closed the book, just in time to catch Iori storming into the kitchen, his jaw clenched with ire and the usually gentle brown eyes almost completely red with the curse coursing through his veins. He had already left his coat in the anteroom, leaving him in a black turtleneck sweater with red trousers, an incarnation of fury in the human guise, if there ever was one, what with his red hair being mussed slightly from the wing, and his fingers twitching, a haze of purple flames circling the bare skin of the hands, ready to start a fire on a breath of a command, if Iori willed it so. Harry had seen many intimidating things in his life, but he would bed his invisible cloak and an album with his parent's books, in this instant, neither Voldemort nor the Dementors could hold even a candle to Iori's apparent bonfire of rage boiling underneath the man's skin,

"Iori?" Harry asked, concerned.

Iori stopped at the kitchen's sink, his fingers grabbing for it's edges and Harry's concern became even larger, seeing that the heat from Iori's skin was practically melting the shape of his fingers into the sink's metallic surface. The fighter's shoulders trembled with fury and Harry opened his mouth to say something.

"That damned Kusanagi." Iori interrupted his intention, drawing Harry's attention to himself. "I swear, my family was right in wanting to eradicate the Kusanagi clan. That idiot dared to blackmail me into going against Orochi saying if I wouldn't then Orochi would destroy you, along the world!" He snarled out, incensed. "I ought to tear out his entrails – how _dare_ he –! "

"Iori, you're not making any sense." Harry took the advantage of Iori's momentary speechlessness to stand up and approach the fighter. But before he could make any contact with Iori's shoulder, the fighter spun around and grabbed him into a hug that was one third possessive, one third furious and one third scared, like Iori was afraid that Harry was just a figment of his imagination, and Kusanagi's words, even as well-meaning as they were, had shattered the magic holding them together.

He buried his nose In Harry's messy hair, inhaling the scent of those dark, unruly strands deep into his nose as to calm himself down. It wouldn't do to have a complete meltdown in the middle of their apartment, after all.

"You're _mine_." He growled, and Harry could feel the thudding of Iori's heartbeat against his body, like some kind of a war drum singing its song relentlessly, terrible for enemy but soothing to the man's allies and the ones whom he loved.

"Yours." Harry agreed, nodding and hugging in turn before he lifted his head, green eyes piercing the currently dual colored eyes of his boyfriend. "Now mind explaining me just what exactly had happened?" He finished wryly, his eyebrows quirking up questioningly as he expectantly stared at Iori.

* * *

Orochi felt Iori's rage - a tangible, poisonously red snake vying in the back of his mind. It was rare that the Yagami heir was so enraged - actually, it wasn't, what with him being the victim of his Curse and the inevitable clashes with the Kusanagi idiot or any other situation that made Iori's blood boil in the churn of violence and blood. But since Iori had been bonded to Harry via his own collar, Orochi was aware of Iori's moods more than he would have liked to be. It was only in a metaphorical peripheral vision, and sometimes Orochi was grateful for it, because it made some damn sense to get the feedback on why were humans so emotional, which in turn made his behavior more natural when he was walking among them, but on the other hand, like right now, it was a downright annoyance.

But for Iori to be so furious and not to be outside, carving apart his opponents like it befitted his nickname and curse of _Blood Riot_ \- instead, the foolish warrior came back home, enraged to the point of violence shuddering just under the thinnest layer of skin, and get close to Harry –

Well, Orochi had a problem. Harry's own link didn't seem to call on him to dispatch of the red-haired flea at the moment, but Orochi still didn't want to leave Harry alone with unstable fighter who could break at any moment.

Frowning, he placed his guitar on his bed and stood up, stretching his body sinuously as to get out the kinks he had gotten in the strange position when he was fine-tuning his playing of the guitar. If Iori did any damage to Harry, then heaven and hell help him, for Oorchi won't have any mercy on the behalf of his Little One.

* * *

"What happened?" Orochi's voice floated in the kitchen/living room, causing both of the occupants' heads jerk toward the source of the sound. "I've sensed Iori's anger." The white-haired man was frowning, as he stood against the kitchen's door, clad in his usual attire of white trousers and dark grey sleeveless shirt with silver designs at his right side.

Harry had to blink twice. No matter how many times he had seen Orochi, it was hard to comprehend that this… man, person, well, being if he had to be concise, was his familiar.

"Apparently Kusanagi Kyo has a beef with you." He finally gathered enough wits to answer to Orochi's question, his own voice dry as a desert.

"Beef with me?" Orochi frowned, confused. "I am afraid that I am not aware of him having any kind of meat with me." He approached, only to be stopped by Iori's growl at his person.

"But you do, Orochi." Iori's voice, despite its gravely quality, was still dangerously soft. "His sidekick apparently informed him of his altercation with you, even if the fool had mistaken you for a Mizuchi-like experiment on the loose, what with your similarity to him. He sought me out because he wanted my help in defeating you."

Orochi blinked, confused. This was all well and good, but still didn't explain why was Iori so pissed off. "He also dared to tell me that in case I don't join him, you would harm Harry in your mad quest." Iori concluded, still seething.

" _What?"_ Orochi's slit iris contracted with rage, so that there were only tiny black vertical lines on the red background, and he felt his eye teeth prickle uncomfortably as they lengthened involuntarily, more like snake fangs than a human teeth at the moment. "Why the hell haven't you killed the fool yet?" He snarled out, his voice intermixed with hissing undertone, an indicator of just how much his original form influenced him.

"Orochi – "Harry tried to interrupt, but Orochi lifted his hand, immediately stopping the wizard - _his wizard's_ \- protest. "On the other hand, it's good of you that you didn't. It appears I will get to school the imbecile in the arts of logical thinking _personally."_ He purred out, barely sensing himself levitating off the floor and the soft cackle of the electricity running up and down his body in the soft whitish blue arcs. "For him to insinuate such a thing, when our very lives are bonded, it's a grave insult, indeed."

"But he doesn't know that you are good now, Orochi!" Harry burst out as he managed to disentangle himself from Iori's hold, stepping closer to Orochi, his green eyes exasperated. "Kusanagi's friend may have mistaken you, and inadvertently caused a misunderstanding - but surely it would've been better to clear out the misgivings – "

Orochi tilted his head and smiled at Harry, but his smile was cold. Distant. _Wrong,_ causing Harry to shudder. "Oh, a _misunderstanding?_ Is that so?" Orochi purred out, before he suddenly reached out and placed his right hand on Harry's head, ruffling the soft hair there affectionately. "Maybe it is so, but how do you think the idiot would react when he would find out that this experiment wasn't an experiment, but _me?_ Would you allow him to reseal me back into the cold, darkness and loneliness just to appease his sense of righteous justice?"

Harry shook his head wildly, almost dislodging Orochi's hand in the process. "I _wouldn't!_ But Orochi, if you would just – " He wanted to talk more, only for his body to disobey him, drowning in the blessed unconsciousness in the process.

"He is too good for them." Orochi shook his head mournfully as he saw Harry's body slump boneless, only for it to be caught in Iori's hold once again. "Little One is too greedy. He wants so many things for others and none for himself."

Slit red eyes looked into equally red ones of his once adversary and now comrade in his quest to protect the fragile creature cradled in the red haired warrior's hold. Iori nodded his assent grimly.

"What are you going to do?" Iori asked his face more like stone than skin, flesh and bones as he glared at the spirit. He hoisted Harry into a bridal carry, the dark-haired man's hair almost blending with the darkness of his own pullover, enhancing the pallor of the wizard's skin.

Orochi paused.

"Oh. Nothing so complicated. I will just educate a certain _worm_ on why is not a good idea to threaten to someone I deem as _mine._ " He flashed Iori a dangerous smirk as he turned around, intent on going to do exactly that.

"You do realize you are risking another resealing, Orochi." Iori cautioned him, frowning. "And when he finds out what you did, Harry won't be exactly sunshine and daisies either." Amused, he watched Orochi stiffen and then cringe minutely at his ominous words. Because for all of Orochi's might, at the end of the day, he was still just Harry's familiar, meaning that it wasn't exactly advisable for him to go against his master's wishes.

"We'll deal when we'll come to that part." Orochi waved Iori's warning off dismissively. Besides, what could a mortal wizard of all creatures do to him, anyway?

 _ **POP**_

With a small sound, Orochi's entire word _popped_ out of the one-angle of sight into multiple ones as he was unceremoniously dumped on the floor, without arms, legs or that strange appendage between legs. He tried to ask, but instead of words, hissing came out of his mouth, causing him to yelp with surprise and bite his tongue.

Correction, tongues. At least three.

And… he was suddenly smaller than Iori. _Way_ smaller.

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

* * *

Iori stared. And stared. In front of his feet, just a step and a half away, where Orochi had been floating before, there was now a cute little white snake with ruby red eyes in its eight heads and ringlets in deep blue snaking – _ha, a pun_ \- around its slender throats, and at least three of them seemed like they had accidentally bit their pink forked tongues. The snake was positively tiny - its length from its collective noses to its tail was only a little bit longer than Harry's forearm, and their necks were a little bit thinner than diameter of an ordinary pencil. If snakes could look both annoyed and baffled with a dash of pain on its tiny scaly faces, then this one was depicting those states perfectly. The tail, also wearing two rings near the tops began to sway with agitation when the tiny being comprehended what had actually happened-

"Orochi, is that you?" Iori couldn't help but ask.

If those glares from those tiny ruby-red eyes could kill, Iori would've been roasted, quartered, bitten to death and … well, and apparently been dead at least eight times over. Luckily for Iori, the tiny snake - Orochi – didn't have such capabilities in this form. The hisses being voiced out of the small throats likened more to ones of an irate chorus of newborn kittens, if even that.

Iori felt his anger and concern budge over in favor of amusement. He felt his face muscles stretch in a grin as he stared at the fearsome spirit being on the floor.

"You know what, Orochi? You are positively _cute_."

The look of offended shock on the eight tiny faces with their tiny ruby eyes, all bugged out with indignation, and small jaws opened wide with surprise was, in Iori's humble opinion, so worth of the revenge Orochi would undoubtedly exact on Iori's skin as soon as he would find a way to transform back into his human form.

* * *

 _ **/To Be Continued/**_


End file.
